


The Sky Is Falling

by LeMightyWorrier



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: All Carloses are Crybaby Carloses, Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Bad Things Happen To Cecil, Carlos Reacts to "Best Of?", Carlos Should Not Have Left The Desert Otherworld, Carlos is Trying to be a Good Boyfriend, Carlos is a Crybaby, Cecil Is Not Described, Cecil Waxing Poetic About Stuff, Cecil is Depressed, Cecil is Mostly Human, Clairvoyance, Descriptions of Bodily Harm, Existential Crisis, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mainly angst, Mental Instability, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Episode 70, Protective Carlos, Sweet&Sad&Fluffy, The Universe Declares War on Carlos, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeMightyWorrier/pseuds/LeMightyWorrier
Summary: Carlos has returned from the Desert Otherworld to a rainy Night Vale and a broken Cecil. Feeling responsible for the harm Cecil came to over the past year, Carlos is determined to look after him and mend their relationship. But a series of revelations calls Carlos' place in Night Vale and with Cecil into question.





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the idea that the old oak doors did not let Carlos return to Night Vale because the universe decided he did not belong there. Having returned through sheer willpower and science the universe is now seeking retribution and it wants blood. Cecil is also clairvoyant and lapses into uncontrolled episodes when he is distressed. In this fic Cecil was injured defending Dana as Lot 37, and either Cecil never had the chance to see Carlos in the intervening year or part of the Faustian pact he made with the Faceless Old Woman was he could go the Desert Otherworld looking completely healthy in exchange for his assured absence, ensuring he was no longer defending Dana. Warning: I am prone to run on sentences.

Being back in Night Vale again took some getting used to.

Carlos had become comfortable in the solitude the Desert Otherworld afforded him. He had charted great distances only to find, even more than usual in a sandy desert, the landscapes definable features such as boulders, the light house and mountains (yes, actual mountains) were subject to unpredictable shifts. What was important, and so attractive, was that it had been vast. In all that space, there were very few sentient beings that demanded his attention, he could be alone with his thoughts and his science. A scientist is self-reliant. He had a lot to think about and he quickly ran out of real science with which to excuse his absence. As Carlos’ excuses ran dry, so did the happy, smitten tone in Cecil’s sweet voice. Sometimes his boyfriend’s decline weighed heavily upon him, other times he tried not to think about it. The scientist’s feeling of almost unbridled freedom was, he would never admit, frustratingly incomplete for being tethered to Cecil. It was as though he could see the holy grail but he could not touch it. But the realisation came, almost too late, that the Desert Otherworld, the life he had built for himself and the work he had done had been literally and figuratively empty and his life in Night Vale had been full. At the very least it had been full.

So, human interaction and his relationship were taking a lot of work. Walking around the desert community was an exercise in the basics of communication and social functioning. Eye contact was a challenge. Body language came out robotic and worse was actual speech. The effect his hermit life style had on him wasn’t nearly as bad as the guilt that was weighing him down, however. Everyone knew Cecil, he was their Voice and it hardly needed explaining that they were protective of him. Whether or not the people of Night Vale blamed him for the Cecil’s state, and whether or not they stared at him when he walked down the street, his guilty conscience felt eyes on him, and heard accusatory whispers regardless.

 

There had been some changes to Night Vale; shop closures, a few “In partnership with The New Strexcorp Inc: Definitely Not Run by Angels” plaques on the places that had remined open and some new graffiti (a lot of it political given the events of the last few months) to name just a few.

The recent rain had done so well to wash everything of its usually dusty coating that the town looked newer than the place he had left a year ago.

He had just been to the Ralphs to bid for food. The other residents had not shifted away from him as he expected them to, and when he bid for items he found few people competing with him. Some even gave him small waves and thin smiles. He felt whether it was by simple deduction or something of the mysterious symbiosis between the townspeople and The Voice -they knew that he was shopping for Cecil, that the Radio Host needed help and that Carlos was trying. Useful items came up for auction in quick succession like vitamin supplements, wheat and wheat by product free tortilla wraps, painkillers, vegetables, body wash… he passed on the imaginary corn. 

 

He walked away carrying several hessian and cotton bags, some baring the logos of companies or physical acts Cecil had sponsored on his radio show. The weight of them put a surprising strain on his muscles. He realised not only did he not feel hunger and thirst in the Desert Otherworld, but pain had also been dulled, making the ache in his back, shoulders and arms unfamiliar and difficult in a kind of ridiculous way, like getting out of bed in the winter. However, he decided against the bus after spying several hooded figures standing at his usual stop, each seeming to watch his laboured progress silently as he passed them.

Instead of looking people in the eye Carlos amused himself with spotting the miraculous greenery that had sprouted between the cracks in the path after the rain storm. He knew that Night Vale wasn’t the only place where life did this, other deserts across the world experienced this same rapid surge; plants growing, flowering, seeding and withering within a matter of days, living fast and dying young. Looking up was also a good way to avoid interaction. There were heavy clouds up there, shifting under the usual blue curve of the daytime sky, looking all together out of place over Night Vale. He sniffed the air and felt a stirring up of the wind and knew it would be raining again soon. He walked straight down the road, having an odd sense that the sky was bigger than it usually should be as he carried the bags with his arms by his sides. He would worry about restoring blood flow to his fingers later.

Reaching their home, he took a moment to appreciate the little miracle in the dirt by the front step. A little crocus like plant, already budding, lively green, porcelain white; as miraculous and strange in this time and place as his first encounters with Night Vale’s ordinary but extraordinary phenomena, like the lights in Radon Valley or the false clocks. It felt like so long ago but then again- A tap on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts, and just who wanted his attention startled him further. There, blotting out the midday sun was Erika -at least, one of the Erikas. Carlos tried to look respectful, he ending up bowing his head a little and saying ‘Hello Erika’ clumsily. The “angel” (Carlos refused to rule out the existence of angels, but he also did not confirm it. He was in the grey area of angel denial in Night Vale) did not speak at first. Instead with a flourish of the hand Erika produced a small object and held it out to the scientist, who reflexively put down the shopping bags and took it slowly. What he found in his hands was a black cassette tape marked inexplicably “Best of? NB: NO!” He looked up at the maybe angel for an explanation. ‘Don’t let him see it, don’t let him listen to it. Hide it, hear it in your own time.’ Then Erika hastily added ‘And don’t let it… you’ll know.’ Carlos could only nod, mouth open, as he watched Erika turn swiftly and take off into the air in a rush with powerful feathered wings, only to descend again to stand at the bus stop not forty metres down the road, seemingly to wait for the next bus. Carlos felt the first heavy drops of rain on his hair. He looked at the tape one more time before placing it carefully in one of the bags. He opened the door and picked their shopping off the ground. 

The house smelled of sitting alcohol and decaying casserole. Just beside the front door had been three dishes covered in tin foil, evidently slipped in for Cecil by someone who had a key. Carlos knew of only two people - Abbey and Old Woman Josie. Who else could have been given one in the intervening year, Carlos could only guess. The point was, he hadn’t eaten them, or even touched them, forgetting about them and allowing them to go stale and grow mould. Carlos had thrown them in the bin, glass and all, not long after his arrival (he vowed to replace the dishes when he figured out who they belonged to). The smell still lingered though, and Carlos hadn’t even had a chance to tackle the open bottles of cheap wine and Armagnac in the kitchen. 

Old woman Josie had said something alarming to him on the night of the opera. Just before he saw Cecil, sitting in the limo. She had pulled hard on his collar, dragging him down so he could hear her ‘Now I know you’ve just arrived back from where ever you blew away to, and I’m not one to put undue pressure on people but our mutual friend is going to need your help. He hasn’t been bowling all that much, he’s stick thin, stinks of the hard stuff at least two days in a week and he’s been having some existential crisis I’d say every damn time he’s on the radio. And he’s been talking, all times of the day and night, alone in his apartment mainly. People have heard him... You know that he speaks for us, Carlos. You know the way he keeps a good eye on us,’ with this she tapped the centre of her liver spotted forehead twice ‘And he has for a long time. But he’s more than that too and he’s been distancing himself from his life by talking away and not taking care of himself. He’s had a lot to want to escape, I should think. I hope that he’ll talk to you about it.’ Her tone suddenly changed to an admonishing one, she shook him slightly ‘Just take care of him and don’t do a runner!’

And this is when the limo stopped and someone familiar but changed climbed in. Soaked to the skin and wide eyed. When their eyes met, it was sweet and strange. 

 

Carlos tucked the tape with a note of anxiety into the breast pocket of one of his lab coats, hanging on a hat stand by the door before calling Cecil’s name. There was no reply and no evidence of anything having been disturbed. Maybe he was still in bed. Carlos worried. He wanted so much for Cecil to be okay. His worry felt like reaching and reaching for the thing, the nugget, the words that would fix everything, e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g, but he could not, for all his failings, find and grasp that one crucial thing. What he did have to offer, a hand, a shoulder, a hug, felt as useless as the lint in his pockets. His heart weighed heavy with what he already knew of Cecil’s year alone.

 

Cecil had only just found out who had bought lot 37, who had bought him. In the time Carlos had been gone Cecil had been possessed, owned and made into a puppet, used according to someone else’s agenda. He knew now that Dana was not the culprit and that his ‘owner’ had tried to use him for good in the absence of full control over his own shared body. This fact, however, did not do much to help the damage already done to the frightened radio host. He had not spoken about it to Carlos since he arrived home, but he saw how his body now bore several small, but healing wounds which Cecil had no memory of receiving. The scientist had noted with a sick shock that most of these bruises, scabs, cuts and shiny red marks, that were surely already scars, had been to his knuckles, torso, shoulders and head, not one of them was a defensive mark. Cecil had been used to fight and protect but had not been given a chance to shield himself. Cecil had been injured again and again, coming back to awareness every time in pain, having the threat of it happening again hanging over his head, with no answers and no relief. The returning scientist had clasped his hand over his mouth and tears and snot had spilled over his fingers as the now too thin Radio Host had stood awkwardly by their bed on that rainy night, little expression on his face, his dress shirt on the ground. The distance between them had been so palpable but they had both been rooted to the spot. The damage to Cecil’s psyche was something he knew less about, and feared. If he could make an educated guess these mental wounds might not be so small and what healing had been done when he found out the circumstances of his purchase, if any, Carlos was unsure.

He tried to ignore a small, persistent voice in his head reminding him he could always run away.

There was so much more to discover. He knew about the strain that had been put on his friendship with Dana. He knew that Cecil hadn’t been eating. He knew that he had been drinking. Carlos had found pill bottles scattered around the place but he had not yet looked at the labels. A carving anxiety dug its way down into his insides and he wondered what Erika’s tape would reveal.

When he had put their purchases away he found that the bedroom door was already open. Carlos had closed it when he left, indicating either than Cecil had got up in the two hours he had been gone or the Old Woman that Secretly Lived in Their Home had paid him a visit. Carlos shivered and hoped the latter was not the case. Inside Cecil was sleeping in the bed as though he had been dropped from a great height, limbs sprawled, his hair messy. Carlos hesitated for a moment, unsure of what their boundaries were, having slept in the same bed last but still strangely apart yesterday, the night of their reunion. Carlos hesitated in the door way, wondering if he should take a step back to give Cecil full control… But he wanted to be near him, he wanted to look after him. A scientist may be self-reliant, but he needed to stop expecting others to be the same. He wanted to try for him, no more running away. He carefully and slowly slid into bed, fully clothed, beside his sleeping boyfriend. He lay close to him but not too close, feeling unsure of himself. But when Cecil stirred, a pair of striking violet eyes met him, first with surprise then with something like pleading and Carlos found himself bridging the gap between them and pulling a trembling Cecil into his arms. He held him tightly, stroking his hair and planting frantic kisses on him.

The scientist felt himself break.

It made Carlos feel too self-important, it made him feel like he was selling short Cecil and any strength he may have, with or without his wayward partner. But, with images of his boyfriend hurt and alone flashing through his mind Carlos said ‘I’m here, I’m here Cecil’ again and again, hushing and rocking him like a child ‘Oh god Cecil, shhh, it’s ok, I’m here.’

They stayed like that for some time, until Cecil’s breathing smoothed out. It was so good to hold him in his arms again.

This, Carlos thought This. How did I ever want to give up this?

To be in their apartment again, to be in Night Vale with the person he loved above anyone else was on a level of wonderful he could never measure scientifically. Cecil might be able to put it into words, with his gift, but this feeling was not quantifiable, it was outside logic and Carlos gave into it.

I’ve been so stupid… This man…

Cecil’s hand went up to grasp his hair, the hair he had always loved and the scientist melted at his touch, after a few shaky breaths came a mumble with a hint of a smile in the tone ‘My perfect Carlos.’

Carlos went tense. Cecil pulled back, sensing his discomfort, hand slipping down to the back of his neck. They looked at each other, Cecil had been crying, Carlos could not hold the eye contact ‘I’m not perfect, Cece.’ He said, looking down and glimpsing a scar that looked like it had been a severe burn on the radio host’s shoulder, still tender and pink and still angry towards the centre.

Cecil made a noise like all the breath had been knocked out of him. Carlos winced, feeling self-centred. But then his voice, not his radio voice, but deep and honey soaked all the same: ‘Do you remember what you said to me? After we escaped the condos, after you said it was time to make a home together. Do you remember what you said?’  
Carlos made much the same noise as his boyfriend had ‘I do, Cecil.’

Both men seemed to be holding their breaths. For once The Voice of Night Vale was lost for words, when he did speak, he sounded pained, his words horribly unsteady and slow ‘Then… well… is it…?’ He swallowed, paused, started again, looked at Carlos ‘…You know… Are we…still…?’

The Scientist felt his heart break and leap at once ‘Yes!’ he cried, rushing to kiss Cecil desperately ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’

Carlos saw the emptiness in his mind, the paradox desert, the wandering giants that roamed it and the light house, always on the horizon. And then a familiar face, as familiar as it could have been all twisted like that. He remembered then, the blood that had dripped from the sound boards, the viscera coating the floor, the teeth, human teeth, strung up like Christmas decorations and in the middle of it all a too wide smile, violent but somehow desperate. His mind had reeled and Carlos knew he had been wrong, he had been living wrong all that time.

He remembered before, the depth of love Cecil had shown him, the length and breadth of it. No amount of scientific discovery or solitude could ever amount to the profundity of what he had here with Cecil.

‘Yes, my Cecil. Yes, yes.’

* * *

Carlos had always been self-reliant, he didn’t like to be fussed over, he was independent. He was good at taking care of himself. He told Cecil as soon as they had started dating because he needed to set boundaries so that he would be comfortable, because making himself understood was important. What Carlos didn’t understand at the time was that not only was he self-reliant but he tended not to understand non-self-reliance in others. Cecil’s need for his time, his support, his help had been slightly bewildering to him. It was not that he didn’t try, he loved this man and he tried for him to be there when he needed him. Night Vale broke his walls down, adapting to the strange place had meant that he looked to Cecil for comfort and guidance to an extent (although sometimes this guidance was limited given that fact that Cecil perceived most of Night Vale’s phenomena as normal but Carlos knew what cultural relativism was, he had taken a rogue module in anthropology once upon a time, and he made do with what Cecil could offer him.)

He understood now that Cecil needed him at least for the moment and shut out the voice that told him being needed was stifling. He had asked his boyfriend’s permission that afternoon after watching him at the corner of his eye move slowly around the kitchen as they cleaned up, his clothes hanging off him, the dark circles under his eyes looked worryingly deep.

While Cecil was cleaning a counter, Carlos ambled up to him, carefully hugging him from behind. His collar bones and ribs were too prominent to be healthy. The scientist felt nervous.

‘Cecil, do you think I could…? I mean nutritionally speaking, I think that maybe, I could, you know, umm…’

‘It’s ok Carlos,’ Cecil reassured him, bring his hand up to rub his boyfriend’s arm.

Carlos’ breath hitched a bit. Cecil had always been understanding when he felt nervous and couldn’t string a sentence together without stammering and adding hundreds of adverbs and asides to distance himself from the difficult thing he was trying to say.

‘But just nutritionally speaking, with good food, I-I think that maybe we should try and um get your weight up? You can say no, scientifically, by which I mean really, it’s your body and I’m sorry to bring it up-’

‘It’s ok, I agree with you. I could use some good food.’ Cecil broke the hug and turned around to face Carlos, a little grin on his face ‘Caarloos, you never have to apologise for being concerned about me.’

The scientist blushed then he brightened up ‘Ok Cecil, t-then if you don’t mind I was thinking about making tortillas. Like, I got a whole load of wheat and wheat by product free ones from the Ralphs, I think they’re made of sweet potatoes which is pretty cool, and I got lots of avocadoes and peppers and I bought you some nutmeg because I know how much you like it. There was this meat, I think it’s turkey? The packet was in Russian for some reason. Oh, oh! And I have mascarpone cheese because it came up for auction and I was like -cheese is cheese, am I right? And mascarpone is a bit like sour cream too I suppose so like two birds with one stone there and-’

‘Carlos,’ Cecil said, his voice was deep and beautiful. That smitten look had been restored to his eyes. He leaned over and kissed his cheek ‘Thank you… I’ve missed you.’  
Carlos was struck by the sweetness of words, they hurt, in a good way ‘I missed you too.’

There was silence, the Radio Host was looking at him warmly.

‘Neat,’ Carlos said, smiling an embarrassed smile, forcing himself to look him in the eyes, feeling heat spread across his cheeks.

‘Neat,’ Cecil laughed, looking a bit more like himself.


	2. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos cares for Cecil while a storm brews, fluff and angst ensues. Carlos makes a few promises he might not be able to keep and the tape Erika gave him is on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit different to the first chapter, but it's the calm before the storm.  
> I've tried to format it so it was a bit more readable, I'd love to know what you all think!  
> Thank you so much for all your wonderful feed back so far!

‘Ok but, y’know… I-I just want to check one more time,’ Carlos said tentatively, as he sat next to his boyfriend on their bed, a first aid kit from their medicine cabinet at their feet. Carlos had placed it there when they moved in, along with a fire blanket while Cecil was setting up his bloodstone circle. That week Cecil had a dedicated a section of his show to co-habitation, love and the key stones of a safe home, though some of the items he included wouldn’t naturally have occurred to Carlos. 

‘Carlos.’ Cecil reiterated in baritone ‘I want you to take a look.’

Carlos nodded, breathed in a little fluttery breath and picking up the first aid kit while Cecil wormed his way out of his shirt and a questionable sweater vest. When he opened it, the kit was still stocked to capacity, despite the injuries Cecil had sustained, a further piece of evidence to support his theory that his boyfriend had done very little to care for himself in the past year. 

Outside, it was raining. The sound was as constant and unchanging as white noise and the clicking and spilling of the disused gutters was as regular as music. Houses in Night Vale weren’t built to withstand rain storms of this magnitude. The air in the house already had a damp quality to it, smelling like the beginnings of mildew. Carlos wanted to open a window but he was unsure if that would help. The volume of water and the size of their windows gave Carlos the feeling that he was in a fish tank. He worried that the roof might begin to leak.

When the Scientist looked over the other was sitting sheepishly, shoulders hunched, his upper body bare. ‘Don’t worry Cecil, I’ll be as careful as I can, it’s important, from a medical standpoint, that we make sure you’re ok.’ 

‘No, it’s not that… it’s a bit cold.’ He mumbled.

‘Aw Cece,’ Carlos was taken aback, Cecil was usually stoic, though granted it was possible Cecil didn’t like the cold, it was the dessert after all and he had lived here all his life. Carlos rubbed his boyfriend’s back affectionately, noticing the light -refracted, strange and changing- cast on Cecil and the rest of the room through the rain battered windows ‘I’ll try to be quick, I promise.’ 

Carlos started small and picked up one of his hands, rubbing it affectionately with his thumb a few times as he examined his knuckles, which were scabbed but healing. Cecil’s wrists however were bruised and swollen, already in the blue and purple stages in places from where he had stained involuntarily against the handcuffs in the Opera House. There were broken blisters on both wrists too. Carlos was sure to be tender when he moved his boyfriend’s wrist to get a better look.  
Cecil let out a small whimper when his right wrist was turned. 

‘Oh! I’m Sorry Cecil,’ Carlos winced, bumbling ‘Ok, I think, for healing purposes and the pain of course, we’re going to have to get that swelling down. I put some cool packs in the freezer earlier for this very reason, but I forgot them. If you just bear with me Cece I’ll just go get them for you. And um later I’ll dress them and give you these little wrist braces to keep you from moving them too much. I mean, you can move them if you want to but-’

Carlos was cut off by Cecil’s expression, his knowing, amused smile and raised eyebrows. 

‘Ok, I get the idea, just wait there.’ 

Once Cecil had been set up with two ice packs (having had been asked very kindly if he wouldn’t mind holding them just so in his now towelled lap, even though they were cold) Carlos set to work cleaning his cuts with sterile wipes and antiseptic and dressing them with great care, even the older ones. Yes, it was cold, even Carlos was feeling it now. It was colder than he had ever experienced during the day in Night Vale and the scientist watched as goose pimples pricked up on Cecil’s lovely skin. He tried to soothe them by rubbing his arms every now and then as he worked.

Cecil eventually lay down so Carlos didn’t have to crane. His clever boyfriend having secured the cool packs around his wrists with bandage tape and elevated them with pillows. He lay there, slightly warmer than he was earlier, taking in the smell of the TCP and the sound of the weather. Carlos wondered if his boyfriend thought this was all excessive, but Cecil seemed calm and willing, even comfortable.

After treating the burn on his shoulder, Carlos reached a series of crisscrossing slashes just below his chest, stretching between the end of his sternum and ribs to the now concave curve of his stomach, now it was Carlos’ turn to whimper. They were worse on closer inspection, some of them even looked like they could have been months old stab wounds made with a small, sharp blade. He kept his head down and tried to work through the tears that had welled up in his eyes. 

‘I think I was scratched,’ Cecil said, his voice deep and low. He was looking up the ceiling ‘I think Hiram must have come at me with his claws. But then again, the height of them is a little off… If it was the Old Woman that Secret Lives in All of Our Homes she would have had to be right in front of me.’ 

‘Scratched?!’ Carlos raised his voice uncharacteristically ‘These aren’t scratches Cecil, some of these were really deep Cecil and they’re not healing properly at all! Look see, most of these look like they’re infected.’ He pointed to one that was deep on one end and tapered off to the left, the area was raised and pink and the cut itself had dried puss surrounding it. Cecil propped himself up on his elbows and eyeballed the damage grimly. In fact, most of his wounds were raised and pink. ‘And I’m willing to bet,’ Carlos continued as he rooted in the kit, pulling out an in-ear thermometer to which Cecil offered his ear, wrinkling his nose at the odd sensation and the loud beeps in his ear canal ‘I’m willing to bet you have a temperature… There we go, like I said thirty-seven degrees, that’s Celsius by the way, almost thirty-eight. I mean, it’s a low-grade fever, medically speaking, but it means you’re fighting infection. You’re going to need antibiotics if there’s no improvement, and that’s at the very least!’

Carlos was angry. Cecil had never seen him angry. Grumpy, irate, irritated, frustrated, yes, but never angry. He even shock slightly. Everything about his body language was tense and pent up. 

‘Carlos’ Cecil said simply after a while. 

Carlos hesitated, but then he seemed to soften just a bit. He flashed Cecil an apologetic, tight lipped expression. Cecil lowered himself back down and watched Carlos as he finished, treating him just as carefully as he had been earlier. When he wasn’t watching Carlos, he was staring at the ceiling wondering, just as Carlos had been, if it was going to leak. After some time, Carlos stood, a roll of bandages in his hands. 

‘Would it be ok if you sat up again Cece?’ Carlos said finally. 

Cecil sat up and let his middle, now baring butterfly stitches, be bandaged. While Carlos talked him through things. He was gritting his teeth and taking deep breaths like he didn’t know exactly how to handle the anger he felt. Strangely, he spoke more evenly than usual.

‘Sorry about the bandages, there was just too much surface area to cover. This will also keep you from moving your ribs too much too, you have a lot of bruising there. Here,’ he handed him a few tablets ‘These are painkillers. They’re anti-inflammatory too. That bigger one is vitamin C.’ 

Cecil took a glass of water on the bedside table and swallowed every one of the tablets. They had just spent the last hour eating and laughing together and now this. Cecil cut a sad figure sitting on the bed, the way he was hunched, bandaged up like he’d been in a car crash while he played with the corners of one of his wrist braces. ‘Thank you, Carlos.’ 

The anger left Carlos in a rush, and he was left feeling ashamed to be in his own skin. 

‘There’s one more thing I want to do.’ His voice was wobbling, he reached for Cecil and gently coaxed him back down onto the bed. And then he lay down as well. He pulled the covers over them and settled in beside him. He put an arm around him. 

‘I love you.’ Carlos said ‘I don’t ever want to see you hurt again… but um, if I have to, or I mean, if it happens again by means outside of my control, because I hope to protect you to the best of my ability, well if you’d like, that is, then I will be here.’

‘I’m glad you’re back,’ Cecil said simply, taking in the features of his boyfriend’s face like he was searching for something in them. 

They lay close together, as they had earlier, listening for some time.

‘I just want to say, Carlos, that lunch was just splendid.’ The radio host chimed suddenly.

‘What?’ Carlos laughed nervously at the change in tone. A weight had been lifted so immediately from the room he wondered if it had been there at all. 

‘The soft, perfectly ripe avocado was just exquisite with the pan fried, spiced turkey. That was turkey, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, it was babe.’ 

‘Great! Now, I don’t-'

‘I think.’ Carlos added as an afterthought. 

Cecil’s smile was vaguely flirtatious as he resumed ‘Now I don’t throw around these terms, “flavours and textures” all that often, but it had flavour and texture! Your tortillas, and the cooking skills deserve recognition.’

‘Aw, thank you Cecil.’ 

‘I think you might just earn a spot on my bimonthly cooking segment.’

‘Ceeecil, I didn’t know you had a cooking segment? Since when are you interested in cooking? Oh but I’d be more interested in the “Fun Fact Science Corner”! I could teach kids about the periodic table and what happens when you mix large quantities of potassium chlorate and gummy bears or what happens when you sublimate large quantities of iodine crystals…. And oh oh! Encourage them to play with magnets because magnets are fun. I’ve seen too many kids reading the Financial Times around town and worrying about their mortgages.’ 

‘Oh, since Strexcorp tried to take over the children have mainly been following Tamika Flynn around with potato cannons and modernist classics.’ 

‘Oh that’s um…’ 

‘I’m guessing you wanted to teach them how to make a potato cannon, sweet Carlos?’

‘Well…’ 

Without warning Cecil leaned forward and kissed him hungrily, the Radio Host hardly had a chance to breath before Carlos meet him with a deeper kiss, drawing a quiet moan out of him. They pressed closer together and Carlos soon noticed the bulge in Cecil’s trousers. Cecil ran his fingers through the Scientists hair and Carlos melted like butter. Hands began to travel mutually downwards, their lips were locked. It had been so long…. 

But then Cecil stopped, pulling back slightly and smiling at him. ‘I have to go to work.’ He said.

‘Are you sure you can’t pull a sickie?’ Carlos sang, hot and bothered.

Cecil frowned as he shimmied off the bed in way that betrayed he was in pain, his voice however gave nothing away ‘Station Management would literally kill me, Carlos. And I don’t mean literally as a sarcastic way to say figuratively, I really mean literally.’ He was about to pick up his shirt when he doubled back and kissed Carlos sweetly, who was in the process of crawling off the bed too. ‘Do you think we can resume this later, my Carlos?’ 

‘Of course Cecil,’ Carlos sighed happily. He couldn’t believe how quickly things were mending. Once Cecil’s health had been sorted out, maybe, just maybe things would be almost back to normal. ‘Wait, Cece, what are doing?’

‘Oh’ Cecil said, mischief on his voice and in his expression. He was in the process of buttoning Carlos’ shirt onto himself ‘I thought this was my shirt.’ 

‘You subversive radio host, you.’ 

Carlos couldn’t handle the wink Cecil gave him as he finished putting it on. He squirmed, feeling like he might need to readjust himself in his boxers. Instead he stood, hoping the other wouldn’t notice. Something about Cecil wearing his shirt made his heart do cart wells. He walked over and straightened the collar affectionately. Carlos had only just got his favourite shirt back, having worn the same one he put on the day he left Night Vale for the past year, but he was happy to part with it under these circumstances.

‘Perfect Carlos, do you think I could go to work in this?’ He said quietly, pulling at Carlos’ shirt, looking down at himself ‘It’s not exactly the kind of thing Station Management would usually approve of but…’

Having seen the kind of things Cecil went to work in Carlos was sure Station Management’s idea of work appropriate clothing was either very broad or entirely non-conventional. But Cecil was looking hopeful, and pretty sexy, in his red and black flannel.

‘Of course Cecil, if you think it won’t get you into trouble.’

The way Cecil beamed made him feel like everything was being brought back into place. But then his mind went to the tape in his lab coat by the door. He resolved to address it immediately, in the future he would not let anything get in the way of his relationship, not old oak doors and not a mysterious black tape. 

‘So, Carlos… will you be here when I get back?’ Cecil asked slowly, standing with the door open, the rain was loud and coming down in sheets outside, moving with the wind mesmerisingly. Cecil was now wearing one of Carlos’ old coats. Neither of them owned an umbrella, however.

‘I promise Cece.’ Carlos thought about the time it would take to get to the pawn shop, then the lab and home in time, but the content of the tape was too much of a variable. ‘Be careful on the roads, the braking distance in this kind of weather could be anything from twenty-five to forty-five metres, or like, seventy-five feet to one-hundred and twenty feet for you.’ He would have to wait at least ten minutes before he himself drove out, that is, if his battery wasn’t flat. At least Cecil often had a lot of prep work and coffee hammering to do before his show.

‘Thank you for converting it this time.’ 

‘I’ll see you tonight. If you feel sick, don’t ignore it, drink plenty of water. If it gets worse come home or… call me, if you can?’

Cecil nodded. He kissed Carlos on the cheek, put up his hood and went on a dash toward his car.

***

‘It’s an antique,’ Jackie said, patting the top of the radio/CD/cassette/record player. Her voice was accompanied by the regular 'pap pap' of water dropping into a bucket in the corner, her roof was leaking ‘It’s like seventy years old.’ 

Jackie’s Pawn Shop was well stocked. Carlos spotted an oboe, a set of silver cake forks, a bird house cleverly painted to look like the maw of a librarian, sporting equipment and a floating, buzzing and clicking mass about the size of a toaster that seemed turn into a face in the periphery of Carlos’ vision only to revert back to an incorporeal blackness when looked at directly -all of which had the potential to be seventy years old, however this audio player did not. 

‘Um, I don’t think so.’ Carlos said dubiously, pointing at the blocky machine ‘It has a CD slot, and cassette tapes aren’t all that old either, I mean, at least relatively speaking.’ 

‘So do you want it or not?’ 

‘As long as it works, that’s all I care about.’ 

‘I run a reputable business Mr. Scientist. It works.’ 

‘Ok then,’ “Mr Scientist” sighed, digging the usual price out of his wallet, preparing himself from the shock that was to come ‘I’ll buy it.’ 

‘Alright,’ she said taking the notes.

Carlos winced and everything went black like someone turned off the lights and he tumbled too fast into unawareness. Then he was dragged back into the light with a gasping breath, no sense of how much time had passed and he found himself on the floor of the pawn shop. He got up shakily, excusing himself and getting to his feet ‘Sorry, I don’t know how to stay upright like everyone else does, I’ve seen Cecil do it but-’ 

‘He’s had practice.’ She stated flatly. ‘Enjoy your antique.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos always welcome :3!  
> And don't play with iodine crystals kids, unless you like carcinogenic purple smoke, but nobody likes that. I just thought it was very Night Vale. You can always look it up if you want! ...Science! 
> 
> Another thing, I will be including at least three "weather songs" in this fic ^^ 
> 
> Next Chapter: "Void" -Shit starts going down, trust me.


	3. Petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos goes back to his lab and begins listening to the tape Erika gave him. Meanwhile the storm outside builds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I said that the next chapter would be called "Void" but I decided to split it in two, it would have been fairly long otherwise. If you hadn't noticed already my Carlos cries a lot, I imagine him as a sensitive soul. You might want to give "Best Of?" a listen again in order to fully enjoy this chapter. I've added a weather song and a link. I also quote heavily from "best of?" Just in case this breaches a rule or two - I do not own any of this content, Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents and Tuck the Darkness In is by Bowerbirds.

Night Vale had hunkered down under the swirling, boiling, hurricane sky. The mass, the shape and the colours of the thing above them impossible and looming. There were few people to be seen, few doors that did not have sand bags fortressing them. Carlos could feel every hair on his body prickle with the cold and the static electricity in the air as he dashed to the car, the audio player in his arms with his coat slung over it, cord dangling. His boots sloshed through water most of the way. As Carlos moved he breathed in a smell he had experienced very little since he came to Night Vale, that rain smell of wet stone, petrichor, wetted earth after a dry season, blood of the Gods. A small inner ache betrayed that he had missed this smell. The wind was whipping the rain about him as though it were trying to carry him away. Dead leaves and debris danced erratically in the air, and vaguely, far away Carlos heard a slow wheelbarrow rumble of thunder. He looked about, his back to the car, finding in the skyline Cecil’s radio tower, contemplating the effects of lightning on improperly grounded antenna and buildings uneasily. Didn’t radio transmission require grounding in order to work? Carlos wasn’t sure. Cecil may have a high tolerance to electrocution from his many re-education sessions but he thought it probably wouldn’t amount to much in a scenario like that. 

He shifted his grip on the stereo and dug his keys out of his pocket. He was already wet and shivering from the short run to the car. He was happy when the cars lights flashed orange, responding to his key fob. He had had to get the help of a stranger to jump start his car earlier, setting him back by fifteen minutes. He jumped into the driver’s seat, shutting the door on the moan of the wind and static of the rain. He breathed into his hands and then reached over taking his phone out of the glove compartment. He sent a quick text to Cecil: 

“I heard thunder… Is the radio station properly grounded?” 

He put his phone in his pocket with the tape and started his engine. On the way to the lab Carlos hit a few banks of water, having to slow down as his car parted these muddy little seas. During his journey he passed only one Night Vale citizen, Michelle Nguyen, from Dark Owl Records, whizzing down the footpath in the opposite direction on a green razorblade scooter. Between the movement of his windscreen wipers he saw that she was wearing an actual birds nest in her hair and a soaked hoodie that read “No. Do you?” 

He pulled the break and turned the key. There is was, his lab. Right next to Big Rico’s, the building had been subject to some mistreatment, having been spray-painted with three gratuitous stencils of the Old Woman Who Secrets Lives in Your Home, another person had spray painted “Cardinal” over them. Carlos had half expected someone to have vandalised the place out of spite for him, but on second thought he wasn’t sure if that kind of behaviour would be in this community’s nature (although he could never be sure). He took a breath and stepped into the rain again.

While his first twenty-four hours in Night Vale after a year of absence had been surreal, returning to this personal space of his was a different experience entirely. The lab wasn’t very dusty, this was a good sign, dust is primarily made up of human skin, it meant that the place had been untouched since he left a year ago. It also meant that everything was well sealed, as it should be. He marvelled at the symmetry of the beakers, the cleanliness of the workbenches, the array of equipment, everything in its proper place. But, he felt unsettled by all of this. To the best of his ability in the Desert Otherworld he had reproduced this very lab. Exactly why he would do such a thing was a question with multiple answers and it required some thought. The characters may have changed but the plot and the setting had remained much the same. But, had the characters really changed? Disregarding the fact that there were a handful of Night Vale citizens there who had entered through the Dog Park, the Giant Warriors had been just as strange, just as outside of his scientific and cultural understanding as the people of Night Vale had been. And Kevin. Had Kevin been a poor replacement? A cheap imitation in this ridiculous pantomime in which he set the stage and rounded up all the actors he could, asking them to play the parts of the people he left behind? Whatever was in this tape, he needed to stay in Night Vale because, at the very least, wasn’t this all an indication that Night Vale was home?

He put the stereo down on the bench immediate to the door. To his surprise, at the back it had a small golden sticker that said ‘Made in Luftnarp. 1965.’ He hesitated for a moment, trying to wrap his head around that time and place and this piece of technology, but he could not find an explanation now. It had a European plug but luckily Carlos had an adapter that converted it. He plugged it in, tuned into Cecil and sure enough, he was there.

‘-don’t think it’s very nice to stare listeners. I’m going to tell intern Karen that if she wants to stare she really ought to do it surreptitiously and outside my home, for example, like the Sheriff’s Secret Police, who stare at you from a respectful distance as they observe your day to day activities. Shame on you intern Karen. And listeners, she was not the only one. Now, I really don’t think I’m being paranoid here when I say that most of the people I encountered on my commute to work this morning decided to partake in a bit of staring. Is there something I don’t know? Was there mascarpone on my face from today’s brunch with Carlos? I won’t know. I don’t own any mirrors. So, would anyone who saw me today please call into the studio and tell me if I have any of the components of Carlos’ delicious avocado maybe turkey tortilla on my face, I would very much appreciate it. In other news the City Council has announced that today is Take your Nephew to your Old Workplace Day, yes, show your nephew the dingy little fast food joint you earned your first under the table, non-taxed dollars in. Show him the exciting world of below minimum wage pay he will soon be entering into…’ 

Carlos flipped the function switch and Cecil’s voice faded out and he heard only the rain on the roof. A strange anxiety over Cecil’s welfare compelled him to get up and turn on his usual radio down low so that he could keep an ear on Cecil while he listened to the tape. 

‘-a word from our sponsor. Do you experience an unprecedented sense of longing for something or someone you never knew? You can’t article it, you don’t know what it is, but you want it…’ 

Carlos sat down and dug the tape from out of his pocket. He checked it to see whether it needed rewinding. He flipped it over in his hands finding that side B said “Cooking + You’ve probably heard this one before” in the same neat cursive as side A. 

He inserted the tape and turned it on, hearing soft white noise for the first twenty seconds and Cecil’s voice on the smaller radio behind him ‘You are longing, you are longing and you will never have it, whatever it is. Betty Crocker Baking Mixes.’ He thought there might be a problem with the ‘antique’ when a voice he did not recognise started to speak.  
‘The sun is actually cold! It’s cold and empty and all is lost. Greetings from Night Vale!’ 

Carlos pulled up a swivel chair and furrowed his brow during the introduction, Cecil was talking about a landslide in Old Town Night Vale on other radio behind him. The new voice explained that he was filling in for Cecil while he was on vacation. So, he had a time and a place, good, that was a start. Then Cecil’s first appearance on the radio was played, Carlos scooted closer, wide eyed.

‘Hi, it’s Cecil, oh boy… um oh. I’m sorry, eh, let me try that again and it’ll be way more professional… Hello listeners! Intern Cecil Palmer here reporting live for host Leonard Burton… I’m way excited.’ A clearly adolescent Cecil chirped. 

At this Carlos couldn’t help but smile, he knew so little about Cecil when he was young, even Cecil knew little about Cecil when he was young. He sounded cute, but Carlos’ smile soon slipped to the impossible thing he was hearing.

What? When was this? When was Night Vale founded? How was Cecil even there? He imagined a dusty wasteland, not unlike his desert otherworld. How had Cecil been there? His presence there meant that he was in residence, surely, that he lived there? It was as though he described himself as some kind of permanent fixture, as though he were part of the environment. But surely, surely, this was some kind of bizarre re-enactment of the town’s founding? He heard an adult Cecil in the background remind his listeners that the Desert Flower Bowling Alley was offering free mole removals to anybody who could play a perfect game as his younger counterpart spoke about the ‘shadows on the hills’. That young voice went on to describe the very essence of existence in Night Vale, seemingly determined in these strange first days, the denial of mountains, the awe of the void, the rootedness… And who was it that abandoned their ‘cliff dwellings?’ 

‘Wednesday,’ Cecil said behind him, his voice notably tinny on Carlos’ small radio ‘it says here that the sky will have fallen entirely and that are not to trust the beings who call themselves angels. Sound advice folks, as, we all know, that angels do NOT exist… and Thursday… there’s nothing else here, Thursday through to Sunday is… blank!’ There was the creak of Cecil’s chair, his voice switching to something more casual ‘Intern Karen! Yes, I’m looking at you Intern Karen. This can’t be right, surely? Listeners, Intern Karen just shrugged at me and left the room, now that will in no way earn her those vital college credits…’ Cecil sighed and cleared his throat ‘I hope to bring you the updated community calendar later on in the show.’ 

The recording went on, and soon Carlos was sitting back in his chair, stunned as a slightly more mature and more confident Cecil spoke, echoing ‘people and buildings reduced to holes in space and time, gaps both concrete and metaphorical, losses that would be overwhelming if everything didn’t already proceed in a state of pre-loss, each thing defined in its existence by the nothing that will come after.’ What Lee Marven had to do with anything Carlos was unsure… God, what did anything of this mean, he knew time was strange in Night Vale but this was on a level of abstraction that Carlos had never experienced, if something like this can really be experienced. How Cecil had been there to narrate the events was unfathomable. Where, when, ‘there’ could possibly be was equally unfathomable.

Cecil briefly mentioned his trip to Europe, saying that he had ‘met a very smart and very… handsome scientist.’ 

‘What?’ Carlos said audibly, leaning forward. Another scientist? Seriously? Wow, he really had a type.

Marconi…. Marconi? The Marconi? Carlos ran his hands through his hair, stunned, unable to process the timescale. How? ‘What?’ 

After a revealing admission from the young Cecil, one which made Carlos blush just slightly, he went on to describe that Marconi had shown his RADIO.

‘Shows just like this will be carried by invisible waves right to your ears.’ Cecil described as a small but audible interference invaded the recording, or, whatever this was.

‘What?!’ Carlos said, louder this time, his mind scrambling to understand. What could he possibly be speaking into but a microphone? And who could possibly have been listening but a radio audience? 

And the 30s… surely that had been the Great Depression? But no, Night Vale, and according to Cecil, everybody else, was experiencing something different entirely, the townspeople enjoying wealth seemingly beyond measure and beyond all sense. And within these strange celebrations, to Carlos’ amazement, a young Josie Ortiz. As his own Cecil, in the here and now, worked his way through his show, as he always did, another Cecil commented on his predecessor having always had ‘that job.’ 

‘…… So, listeners,’ the other Cecil said ‘I received a message from the City Council’s collective number and they say, in capable letters so I’ll have to shout “YOU HAVE FOOD ON YOUR FACE THAT IS THE REASON PEOPLE ARE STARING AND NO OTHER REASON” Huh. It’s followed by a few food symbols and the purple devil emoji. Well, thank you City Council, I didn’t see you on my walk this afternoon. It’s good to know the City Council are looking out for us, listeners… But, I feel that this may have been going on for a bit longer than just this morn- Oh! Intern Karen has handed me a new copy of the community calendar, thank you Intern Karen, let’s see here… This time Thursday through Sunday actually says the word “blank!” Well, there you have it. We’ll all just have to wait to find out exactly what this “blank” is, if that is, if it’s anything at all!’

War. Night Vale during World War Two, or at least, what Carlos assumed to be World War Two. And Cecil was there, his voice, serious, deep, announcing not only the role of the town as part of the horrible machine of war, the air of obligation and death, but also the retirement of Leonard Burton and his debut as the Voice of Night Vale.  
Then Nulogorsk, Night Vale’s Russian sister city, destroyed by some unknown force, a solemn Cecil announces this terrible news: 

‘Since then the sky has been hot with death, so much fuel for so many rockets burning away at once, it makes the fall air seem a little warmer, even down here. Not to mention that final sizzle at the end of each. Blooms of death all over the world, hot and final. I speak to you for as long as I can from a world ending, 1983, our final year. I suppose as good a year as any.’ 

Carlos stood, his hand over his mouth, confused tears blurring his vision. What on earth was this awful recording? There was such resignation in his boyfriend’s voice, like he was going down with his ship, like they were all going down. He sounded detached, ready for death. It was what he said next that broke him. 

‘I will never meet that…someone.’ 

‘Cecil…’ Carlos whispered, leaning in close to the stereo.

‘That someone who could have given my life depth and meaning, who could have been my other.’

‘But I’m here…’ He cried, hysteria blooming in him, more confused than he ever had been, he wanted to reach inside and save him.

‘I will only ever sit here, only have ever sat here, behind this microphone until I am not, ever, ever ag-’ 

Carlos pressed the stop button down and it all stopped, he gave a few gasping sobs, his head resting on the bench. In the background, through the cacophony of his loud thoughts and the rain on the metal roof, he vaguely heard Cecil say the word “weather”: 

Bowerbirds – Tuck the Darkness In  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZccFsXPZis 

Mid weather, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it out, hands shaking and he saw through teary eyes that it was a text from Cecil, his Cecil, somehow miraculously alive, somehow miraculously his boyfriend. Carlos couldn’t help but think that he really hadn’t been a good “someone”, a good “other”. Carlos was not the kind of person the Cecil in 1983 had dreamed of, when he was facing death. He was a joke. Unsuited for the role. Cecil deserved so much better. He tried to focus his vision. 

“Yes, we took all the proper precautions. Thank you for worrying about me Carlos, I’m so lucky to have you. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I’ve missed you <3 I can’t wait to see you tonight.”


	4. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos finishes of the last of the tape and he lets Cecil down. 
> 
> The sky begins to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, "Void"! I really enjoyed writing this one. I've made a few stylistic choices about midway to give the sense of things happening at once, I wanted it to seem mad and panicked, I hope it's comes across okay! Enjoy! As always, feedback and kudos would be so lovely, I've just got the best comments from all of you so far (I even got a carnivorous plant from someone, so generous and thoughtful :P!)

Carlos waited until the weather had finished, he was attempting to calm his breathing, which was coming out involuntarily in jerking sobs and hiccups. He tried to count. He tried to focus on something outside of him, something visual. He looked at the periodic table on the other wall but he quickly found himself looking away, remembering the one he had drawn from memory on the walls of his lab in the Desert Otherworld. What a waste of time that had been. He was unsure of how to stop. In situations like these Carlos would usually focus on something that calmed him, something that made him happy, but everything his mind landed on had some element of guilt attached to it, or it would strike some cord and set him off. His science, Cecil… what else did he have really? A sob built in his ribs and escaped his mouth and quaked him, almost hurting him. He held his middle as though he could might be able to keep it down. He knew supressing it wouldn’t help but it was his instinct to do so, opening the floodgates was always such a bad idea. He wanted to hear Cecil’s voice, the Cecil of the here and now, and as the weather ended, he found that the act of listening was most helpful thing so far, so he listened. 

‘Listeners,’ Cecil voice, deep and beautiful, came back on air. 

That’s me, Carlos thought. I’m listening. 

‘We’ve had a lot of calls into the studio over the break about sections of cloud and void that many claim to have witnessed breaking off from the mysterious expanse above us, and descending upon our desert town. John Peters…’ Carlos waited, a small shaky smile graced his face between the heaves ‘You know, the farmer? Well, as a farmer, he tends to see these cloud and void related phenomena before most of us have a chance to notice, in our retail and office jobs, or at home looking after whatever conglomeration of sentient beings we designate as family, and I will remind you that John Peters was also the first citizen of our lucky town to witness the Great Glow Cloud, ALL HAIL’ 

‘All hail.’ Carlos sniffed with him, bringing his knees to his chest. He kept listening.

‘He says that what was once a substantial portion of his farm is now primary void, a smaller part cloud and an even smaller part stars. Here’s a recording Intern Karen made during the weather.’

“Yup,’ John Peter’s voice was cracking over the airwaves ‘It’s a mighty inconvenience and I hope it clears up soon, just thought everyone else should know about it so I called in. Trouble is, I’m a humble farmer and don’t know how to get rid of void when it comes down like this. It’s too big to try and set a bloodstone circle up around it and the incantations and bloodletting I’ve attempted here in my own bloodstone circle haven’t been all that effective on it. So I was here wondering if maybe that scientist of yours might know anything because I can’t imagine my crops will do all that well inside the void, though they have been liking this rain I must admit.” 

‘We’ve had plenty of similar calls listeners, the Trailer Park, Desert Creek and the area surrounding the abandoned missile silo seem to also be experiencing this kind of atmospheric descending. As this seems to be happening all over town I think I will take John Peters’ advice and call my boyfriend, who, as we well know is a scientist, and an exceptional cook… and he’s also very caring… and he’s come to specialise in saving our little town from those perils which are more than just the daily sort.’ 

 

Carlos burst out of his position in the chair and scrambled for his phone, wondering whether he should turn it off or- it started to ring, his boyfriend’s name appearing on screen over an image of Cecil and Janice with their tongues sticking out, something he had found over a year ago when they had been asked to mind Janice for the evening and Carlos had left his phone unlocked on the coffee table when he went to get snacks. It rang and rang and Carlos knew he wouldn’t be able to get the upset out of his voice in time.  
On the radio Cecil said ‘Hang on listeners.’ An audible anxiety creeping into his tone.

The phone stopped buzzing, a missed call appearing briefly before it began ringing again. 

‘I’m s-sorry Cecil.’ Carlos whispered, letting it ring through again, watching it, biting his lip.

‘Uhhh…’ His boyfriend began. A cloud of guilt settled over the scientist and he threw himself into the chair, leaning back and covering his eyes as though that just might hide him. He wished the earth would swallow him. Cecil continued, though shakily ‘Well, he mustn’t have heard it. Anyway, he did contact me earlier about the thunder, asking if the place was grounded and all and, of course it is, I’m certain Station Management have made all the necessary sacrifices… Until then listeners, we will hope that the problem will be solved by morning.’ 

Carlos was slamming his palm against his forehead as Cecil moved on, a lot let gracefully than usual to the topic of the staring. 

‘Well, um…. I…. Listeners, I’ve just caught Intern Karen staring at me again through the one corner of the window, she looked like she was hiding and -Yes Karen, I’ve caught you. There’ll be no college credits for you. Stay tuned for the sound of an empty studio followed by the sound of Intern Karen spending at least two hours pre-hammering my coffee in the breakroom for tomorrow because -Oh? She’s writing something. Karen? Is that an approved writing utensil you’re using? She’s put a message on the back of a cereal box, I don’t know where she got that but luckily it seems to be wheat and wheat by product free, and she’s using what looks to be a Sharpie, which is most certainly banned by City Council and it says… why everyone…. “I’ll tell you why everyone is staring at you, just don’t do anything drastic.” Well then. Stay tuned listeners for either the sound of Intern Karen pre-hammering my coffee for at least two hours or something else… maybe “blank”. Good night, Night Vale, good night.’ 

Carlos exhaled. His heart beating a bit too fast for his liking. After talking to Karen, Cecil would so home to find that he is not there. He wondered if Cecil would think he had disappeared again. What kind of excuse could he give for this absence? Maybe he could say he was investigating the patches of void, but Cecil might want to join him. Carlos could ask him to stay at home because of his fever, but then he wouldn’t have any data to give him for his show. He needed to see this thing through, he could mend things later. He could hear the wind picking up outside, even the sound of debris clattering through the streets and the changes in direction as rain landed on this window, or the next. He decided that he should resume the tape now. 

But when he pressed down the play button it was a different tone entirely to the one he had remembered earlier, this time, Cecil was talking cheerfully about an event at the Old Opera House. Stunned, Carlos stopped the tape and rewound it and sure enough there was poor Cecil again, reporting their imminent death. He listened to it through and this time heard that change, that shift in the recording, and the supposed splitting of reality. That kind of explained why Night Vale was here, in this particular here and now, for him to find, to do research in, allowing him to fall in love with one of its foremost residents, even after it was seemingly wiped from the desert landscape. But so many questions still stood.  
The weather from that show began playing and Carlos listened to it. He should probably have skipped it but it was a good one. It made him think about his love, and the time he spent apart from him. He needed to be sincerer, he needed to try harder, his relationship needed time. He needed to be the “someone” Cecil had wanted. But there were whispers at the back of his mind telling him that the very best that could come of their love, if it endured, is that Carlos would grow old while Cecil remained young. He thought this might be worse for Cecil than him. How many people had this poor man lost, living so long? Carlos was glad Cecil didn’t seem to have strong memories of his past.

When the weather ended, and the last recording was played, Carlos heard Cecil like he had never heard him before. The sound of a grieving Cecil was another experience entirely, Carlos found himself gripping his lab coat as his boyfriend spoke in fits and starts, horrified and yet obligated to report. He was sending his condolences as respectfully as possible to the family and friends of his predecessor but also morning the passing of someone who could only have been a sort of hero or father figure to the Radio Host. He sounded nauseated and unbelieving as he described the blood, the “things that were not were clearly not skin, of course”. Carlos could hardly comprehend the thing, the murder that Cecil had seen: 

“…and then the wretched sound of the pulling and the single, awful, snap! We will all remember the sound of the snap forever. There is more but I cannot… There is more but I won’t… and the fingernails, of course, of course, the fingernails. I mourn Leonard Burton with all my heart…” 

“Snap” Cecil’s pained, horrified, grieving voice had said. “Snap” was the word he fixated on. What could possibly snap? What could possibly have the strength to pull apart a whole person? Was he even pulled apart? Cecil had been so distraught when he gave Night Vale that news. He had mentioned things that were clearly not skin. This Leonard Burton had blood, which indicated that he was human or at the very least living, but what about the other things? What about the things that weren’t human? 

A thought struck Carlos and he immediately tried to push away from it as though it were a violent pursuer advancing on him. 

The tape continued as he tried to suppress that unavoidable deduction, and he heard the shocked Radio Host filling in for Cecil, not understanding, disturbed by the content of the last recording, talking about false memories, false lives. Only to sign off as Leonard Burton himself.

No no no no! That can’t be! He wheeled, as the recording ended, tearing at his hair. 

The thought returned and he could not fight it. What if? What if Cecil isn’t human either? What if he was the same thing as this Leonard Burton? That inside Cecil, right in his core, there were the components of the imitation of life? Or perhaps the components that prolonged it? What if the strange make-up of the former radio host had been perfectly living and organic but in-human all the same? Whatever it was, this was information the scientist could not process.

But he knew Cecil. Cecil was deeply human, flawed according to Carlos’ own societal and cultural parameters, flawed even on a Night Valian scale, but he was a singular wonder to Carlos. Maybe if they hadn’t had a year apart his certainty wouldn’t waver like this. Everything was in question now. This mind was buzzing with questions, but for the moment one topic was prominent, delivered with his own gory mental images of the event, Leonard Burton’s seeming death. Who or what had done that horrible thing to the former radio host and why did he seem to be alive now? Would that ever happen to Cecil? He couldn’t help it, in these mental images it was now Cecil he saw, conscious, and screaming as he suffered the same fate. And he could not rid himself of it.

He heard the tape roll onto into white noise for a minute and then click off, perfectly. He didn’t like the near silence that followed. What had he just heard, w-h-a-t--n-o-w?! Something built inside of Carlos and he found himself shouting, throwing away the swivel chair, stepping over to the periodic table on the wall and tearing it off, ripping the glossy paper to pieces in his hands. He swept a line of flat bottomed flasks to the floor, where they smashed into pieces and he flung old papers, shredding some of them into haphazard confetti, products of his research before Strexcorp came to Night Vale over a year ago, before he left. 

Another thought came to him, something that he had thought about only in passing before and had always dismissed it. He should never have come to Night Vale in the first place.  
No. He shouldn’t have ever come.

There was a whole other side to be listened to. Carlos didn’t think his heart could take it but he found himself marching over there nonetheless, opening the cassette tray, flipping the tape to Side B, shutting it and hitting play. 

 

* * * 

 

Carlos had settled down, he was thinking. Mulling things over. His eyes almost unseeing as he stared into space and heard the last of the tape. Erika was right, he had heard this one before. He could never forget the fallout from those tapes for having captured a life not remembered; a shell-shocked, almost nonreactive Cecil and he, the scientist, bereft of the emotional tools with which to help him. He needed to play this through to completion however, to listen with new ears.

In his hands there was more of the paper he had ripped earlier. While listening to side B he had been compulsively taking tiny pieces from it, mostly to occupy himself. But it was also the content of this sheet that made him want to destroy it, granted in a slow deliberate way but it was destruction all the same. This piece of paper was the last page (it’s brethren already fallen and gathering as snow drifts at the foot his chair) of something which had been less legitimate report and more random scribblings, but the information it recorded was based on real hypotheses and research. It was about Cecil. It was about the radiation his radio station emitted, and to a very small extent, Cecil himself, it was about the symbiosis between he and the town, his otherworldly capabilities... This document had questioned Cecil’s humanity. He had started it not long before they started dating and he was ashamed of how far into their relationship he had added observations and notes, justifying his actions by thinking of the radio host as some kind of muse, but never disclosing, never asking permission. He even attempted covert investigations, taking advantage of their intimacy, their relationship. And he had so carelessly left it in plain sight in a stack of papers on his desk. As Cecil’s show about the tapes drew to a close Carlos was also finishing the last tiny ball of paper. 

Was it really worth it to question Cecil? Trying to understand anything in Night Vale was like going down a rabbit hole. In this case though that rabbit hole was full of temporal paradoxes and led to alternate rabbit holes, all of it full of horrors and mysteries, the whole damn rabbit hole was ancient and terrible and it existed in its own bubble where everything was horrific, mysterious, ancient and terrible and Cecil was inextricable in the centre of it. 

He learned from the earlier section marked “Cooking” by Erika that Cecil wasn’t alone. This Earl Harlen seemed to be the same age as him, despite, bewilderingly, spending decades as a nineteen year old. From the times Earl had carefully raised issues about Cecil’s past Carlos gathered Earl’s memories were more intact than Cecil’s. While this was useful information the last thing Carlos wanted to do was explore this even further. It also revealed another thing, that Earl and Cecil likely had a history. Less likely was the object of his paranoia, a niggling thought that something may have gone on between them in his absence. Carlos felt he deserved every bit of It if it had. He and Kevin- 

Carlos’ phone buzzed once, twice. A reminder that there was a world outside his little lab, he had been sitting in it for what felt like days (and very likely could have been knowing Night Vale). He watches it light up and fade to black again and he finds himself tuning back into things, the storm outside, his still damp clothes, his headache, hunger, thirst and exhaustion. He stands and stretches and despite his slow movements anxiety defines every thought. He imagined it would be Cecil who had texted him but instead he found texts from Old Woman Josie, he didn’t think she had a mobile and he certainly didn’t remember having her number, yet her name was there. She wasn’t all that tech savvy, an Erika or two must have helped her. 

“Go home would you!” 

“I told you to look after him now look what’s happening?” 

He texted her back in a flurry.

“I’m sorry. What’s happening?” 

He didn’t get a reply. He tried calling her but it rang and rang and nobody picked up. It was while he was calling that he heard a loud “thunk!” on the lab’s metal door. He hung up and put it down, stepping cautiously toward the sound. He listened again. “Thunk!” He imagined Cecil, unwell, distraught, in the rain trying to find him.

He opened the door a crack, immediately feeling the force of the wind and the rain and the hold it had on the door. Suddenly, the door was flung inwards, immediately off its hinges as though someone had pushed it with inhuman strength, almost too sudden and forceful to be the weather, causing Carlos to jump back, his heart pounding. Papers flew about behind him, and the lights blinked once, twice and went out. He backed up further. His back brushed against something. 

He turned his head just slightly, using his peripheries, terrified, knowing there should be nothing there. Then he saw -he saw a black impossibly dark figure, standing behind him, craning over him, taller than a human should be. All in one movement he took a gasping inward breath and kicked off to blot for the doorway but an impossible boned hand grabbed his left arm spinning him, the bare strip lighting above flared brighter brighter and Carlos wheeled in horror at what he saw as the bulbs burst in a lightening flash burning the image unto his vision in violets and yellows he shouted and thrashed free, running into the skin stripping rain, running and running and running oh my god had that been its face? Was that its face? Was that...? Oh my god what did he just see? He needed to look behind him, but couldn’t, he couldn’t. He left the door open, banging in the wind, he left his car, he left his coat. He ran through the dark street, stepping into what seemed like void and turbulent, reflected street light, the path in front of him was longer than it should have been and the everything seemed to tip and list towards the violent sky and this violent sky rushed toward him. He raised his arms as though bracing for impact, confused and afraid of the impossible thing above him but nothing touched him. He was getting breathless, his lungs straining in the cold air, a slick of phlegm coated his throat and he could not swallow. The colours of that horrible afterimage had almost left him as his eyes darted frantically about him and above him he noticed the same palette in a twisting, kinetic cloud structure, visible even on this dark night, seeming to have hands extending to the ground as though searching -were those tornados? To one side of him, he detected something shifting in the shadows behind the open gates of Night Vale Community College, from the darkness into the street light. Carlos, hardly watching where he was going, urged his eyes to focus, having left his glasses behind too. It was a hooded figure, no, there was more than one, advancing quickly, too smoothly to be human, out the park entrance, onto the road, after him. Carlos wheeled, forcing himself into a mad, flailing sprint. The black and enigmatic windows of the homes of businesses about him gave the impression Night Vale had been abandoned entirely. He rounded a corner, taking a small glance behind him but not seeing his pursuers in the darkness. On this road too no one seemed to be home. Above him the sky was opening, unknotting itself in impossible ways as though preparing to reveal the lightening inside. He was drawing little air into his lungs, panting insufficiently, more out of panic than anything else. His lungs felt heavy, his calves ached. Was he running for his life? Or was he running from some Night Vale phenomena that only he could possibly be frightened of because it was unknown to him, because he was an outsider? Curse this town, this terrible place. His heart was beating so hard he wondered if it would simply give out. The ache had an edge to it, there was more to it. What was this place, really, other than a conglomeration of scientific impossibilities, what was its true history? What was here before? Should Night Vale, should any of it, really exist anymore? Was it some kind of anomaly, eventually blasted out of existence, leavened, by the powers that be when really it had been blasted into another existence? God, the dejection in Cecil’s voice when gave the news, it had split Carlos in two. He could almost accept that the town existed in such a realm of uncertainty, of mystery (not that the image of that systematic extermination would ever leave him) he could almost accept that it was quite possible he could spend a life time trying to understand it and never scratch the surface. Life time. Life times, Cecil had already lived a few of those, it seemed. It was this he could not accept. Who… what…. Is Cecil? Carlos’ eyes filled with tears, he shook them away angrily but they came back, clouding his vision, killing his resolve. He was slowing down. No, it was not fair to think of his loving, feeling, hurting, bleeding boyfriend like that. But what then should he think? How was he supposed to wrap his head around this? How was he supposed to move on from this? Carlos stumbled, falling to his hands and knees into dirty water and grit, a wrenching sob escaping him. He looked up and everything was too alive, too close, and he imagined the missiles falling out of that awful skyscape. He made an attempt to scramble to his feet as his knees and hands stung, stuck with stones.

Then a hand.

He took it.

He was pulled up effortlessly. 

‘You know now.’ Erika said, blotting out the lightening above them, voice somehow very clear over the din of the weather. 

Carlos looked about frantically, unable to draw enough air to speak ‘They…they, the hood…hooded…’ 

‘You don’t need to worry about them.’ The definitely-not-an-angel said, advancing slowly. 

‘But…’ 

‘You know now. The next step is to accept, to be here, to be with him.’ 

Carlos wheezed out a laugh, doubling over, his hands on his knees. He shivered in the cold and the rain, shaking his head, watching the shadows, getting ready to bolt ‘I’m not… sure if I can… do that… Erika.’ 

‘You’ll have to, don’t you think that maybe you interrupted something when you came here? Don’t you what to know how it plays out?’ 

‘…What-?’ 

Suddenly Erika was above him, around him. Carlos trembled, frightened, but he did not move. A large hand was pressed to Carlos’ forehead. 

‘Erika...?’ And then he felt the need to run, the panic being lifted out of him impossibly, drawing from his toes upwards through his body, his heart beat and breath fluttering as it was brought up to his head and out. When Erika’s hand was no longer upon Carlos’ forehead the scientist was left in a loud silence, the kind at the end of grand choral performance, but Carlos heard no choir.

‘We are holding them off. Nothing will harm you, not tonight. Go to him. He needs you. We need you.’

Carlos stared. Erika moved back just slightly. The scientist noticed with a strange giddiness that the rain did not hit Erika, but bounced off just before it made contact. Carlos thought about how the rain wasn’t doing the same for him at all, his clothes were heavy and his hair, also heavy, was filtering rain water onto his face, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth. Carlos heard a giggle escape him, like a child who had gotten a hold of a joke.

‘What did you say?’ Carlos said, dazed, smiling oddly, spluttering water, tipping his ear toward Erika as thunder sounded low somewhere further away. 

‘Go to him.’ 

He swallowed, understanding, trying to breathe through the pouring liquid ‘I’ll go.’ He said decisively. A new feeling set in. He needed to go home.

He trudged past Erika.

He stepped through puddles. 

He circled around the deeper shadows. 

He looked up. 

The clouds had moved on, taking the rain with it. It left void. The void was reflected in the now mirrorlike pools on the ground, a sky above and a sky below. He walked on until he reached the same road he had walked at midday, carrying home food under blue and raincloud. There was a slight hill here, an outlawed point of elevation, and yet… There was the reflection, even at the point where the road met the sky. But, no, this was not water. Before him was only void, partially stars. But this was the way home. He treaded carefully, bravely into this textured dark expecting at any moment to fall through empty space but he did not. He thought he saw dark shapes standing somewhere in the middle, where the top should have been but now wasn’t. He crested the hill, or what should have been the hill, and laid out below him were the suburbs of Night Vale sitting in a starry sky, with no sign of the desert beyond. He saw Mission Grove Park, the houses, some now with signs of life, lights on in odd windows here and there with even with some movement behind them. And then, he spied his and Cecil’s home, dark and enigmatic, its windows dark.

He descended, and as he did so his featherlight resolve was brought down to earth, where it began dying with every step. His sense of time was entirely scrabbled. Even if he had access to a clock it would not matter, Cecil was wearing the only real watch in the entirety of Night Vale. Cecil, how long had he left him alone for? 

Ahead of him was their home, looking all together ominous cradled in that immense dark. Cecil was inside. He needed to go to him. Carlos had broken a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter "Speak"


	5. Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos arrives home to find Cecil speaking in the dark, and the dark has something to say.  
> All Carlos knows is somewhere, some-when or no-when there was a Cecil who died without ever having been loved deeply, and just when Carlos felt ready to provide that kind of love, to be Cecil's other, something bigger than them now seemed to threaten that possibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again all! I'm back! I've had a lot of uni work and work-work to do recently, but I've been waging a war of attrition with this chapter in my spare hours. I hope you enjoy! Free hugs for every kudos given ;)

Carlos dug his keys out of his pocket shakily. He opened the lock but the door wouldn’t budge, he put his weight against it and pushed hard but it only gave just slightly. Something about the resistance he felt made him think that something was blocking it. Panic was all around, choking him and clouding his thoughts like someone had put a plastic bag over his head. He breathed in the strange air through his tight lungs, wondering about its oxygen content. He held fast to the door handle, clutching tighter with every second for fear of falling right through into the void beneath his feet, his sense of fear now fully, unfortunately, restored. There was a war going on in his brain that told him every step he took would have him falling into an impossible infinity. He checked the building tentatively, the lights were not on but when he pressed his ear to the door he thought he could hear Cecil’s voice.

Cecil.

He tried the key again. He pushed the door. Then he slammed his body against it, harder each time. Once, twice… on the third he fell through onto the debris inside their dark hallway with enough force to bruise. Carlos scrambled on his hands and knees away from the door, flipping over onto his back to kick the door closed, shutting out the fallen sky as though it would seep into the house if he was not careful. He breathed for a moment on the floor, finding it ever so slightly easier all of sudden, perhaps confirming his suspicions about the air quality. He could hear Cecil, but couldn’t make out exact words. His next step was to find the light switch, he got to his feet and made his way to the wall, tripping over things that weren’t supposed to be there as he went. Bizarrely, he thought about the nature of the familiar, of the pull he felt toward Cecil, of finding your way around your home by feel in the dark, even after a long absence. When a small amount of light was shed on the space by the old energy saving bulb above him Carlos realised the door had been blocked by a chair and a side table from the bedroom. Carlos’ mind wheeled as his ears picked up Cecil’s voice. He bumped past the furniture to the source. He stepped in a puddle of wet before he reached the kitchen. He looked to the ceiling to see a dark patch.

The roof was leaking. 

As he stepped through the puddle he added drips of his own from his sodden clothes. 

He entered the kitchen, and there on the floor, with his back to a cabinet and his knees drawn up to his bare chest was Cecil. He was looking ahead in the dark, unblinking and speaking steadily in his radio voice. 

‘-down in the black hole, down in the abandoned mine shaft where there is not light but the light of HBO on the television screens and all that can be heard are the screams of their follow inmates, brought to re-education and or suffering through reruns of that show... you know, that show. They don’t know who is next. They don’t know what exactly will be in store for them. They are in the dark. The floor is filthy. The walls are filthy. The ceiling is filthy. They are filthy. They sleep with rags, on mattresses made with empty, confiscated wheat and wheat by product food packets. Today Ezra Warshawski was supposed to be released, he was supposed to be released, but when the time came nothing happened, nobody came, nothing was said.’

Carlos stumbled over to him. His third eye was wide open, the violet pupil flicking rapidly left and right as though it were reading something, or taking in images that were almost too fast to capture. He had dealt with this before, he just needed to coax him back to the real world. He had to speak with him first, looking for some sort of response before proceeding. 

He hunched in front of him, noticing with a pained expression that Cecil was not seeing him. His hair was sticking out in all directions, his lips were dry and cracked as though he were badly dehydrated. His eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t blinking. His dressings were gone, leaving only slight marks were the tape had been. But some parts were redder than they should have been, the smaller scabs had come off to reveal raw layers of skin, healing set back, as though he had been scratching and picking at them. Others seemed to have been dug at more aggressively, maybe with a tool of some sort… 

Carlos looked about and saw the gleam of a small knife on the ground in the dark. It wasn’t their sharpest, but it was enough. 

‘Cecil…’ Carlos gasped, every part of him wracked with fear in an instant. What had made him do this? This wasn’t something he could ever imagine him doing. Cecil was surprisingly squeamish for a citizen of Night Vale. There may be a reason behind that, whether he was conscious of it or not, Carlos realised darkly. The scientist was deeply worried by the state of the man in front of him, he wanted to reach out to him but previous experience had told him that might startle him too much.  
He pursed his lips, hesitating ‘…Cecil… Cece?’ 

‘-waiting. He does not plan to sleep tonight, lest he, by some logic, misses the time of his imminent acquittal-’

‘Cecil, please my honey voiced honey, I’m here, can you hear me?’ 

‘-tonight. And they worry, all of them, that this will happen to them too, hushed whispers fill the air when usually there would be the sounds of sleeping, when-’ 

‘Cecil!’ Carlos said, louder this time, shivering almost violently now with the wet and the cold ‘I need you back here with me, come back.’ The Radio Host was not at the station. Meaning he was channelling these thoughts alone, he was a car without brakes, nothing between him and the sensory overload flooding his brain. Cecil had explained it to him once, it was draining and deeply exhausting, drawing on his energy rather than super conductor of the radio station, at least that’s what Carlos had gathered, his boyfriend had used language that was decidedly more Night Valian. Carlos was unsure how long he had been doing it.

‘The whispering built to hushed speaking and the speaking grew frantic and now they are shouting saying “Gods, will we ever be allowed to leave!” “Have we been forgotten down here?!’ And they are up against their cell bars, shouting aimlessly. Unheard, alone.’ 

‘Cece, come on, come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ Carlos cried.

‘Across town, Hiram McDaniel’s Violet head too wishes for release, wishing it were possible to detach himself from the rest of his shared body, from the shared violence, from the shared misdeeds, from this shared incarceration, from whatever shared punishment that this body as a whole, as a reluctant whole, will be made to suffer. Violet has fought for a long time, against only himself. The only means to act -through the puppeteering of another reluctant other, he believes he is no better than his whole. He wondered if maybe, he belonged inside the prison with the rest of his criminal heads.’ 

These were the circumstances of Cecil’s ownership. That Cecil would channel his captor’s solemn imprisonment was poignant to say the least. Did Cecil have any degree of control at the moment? It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination that for some unconscious reason he was focusing on the trapped, the caged in Night Vale. What he had to say about Violet deviated from what Carlos usually heard of Cecil’s ramblings outside of the radio station, this was personal, more to do with his internal state than his actions. ‘Violet, outside of his prison, but only limitedly, sees, feels the void and knows that something dark has enveloped Night Vale, knows that this is a foreboding as much as it is a threat. Violet knows-’ 

‘H-hey there Cecil,’ Carlos had a hypothesis. 

Cecil stopped immediately, listening. 

Carlos thought quickly. He hadn’t known this would work. Perhaps using the format of his show could help guide Cecil’s awareness back ‘So, um, my… my boyfriend has sort of clairvoyant type capabilities, kind of, and um, how would one get him out of an episode if he were having one? You know, technically speaking…’ He trailed off, then remembered he had to sign off so he quietly said ‘From, I Don’t Know, But I’m Trying to Find Out.’ 

Cecil took a breath, then smiled in an automatic kind of way, his eyes still glazed. Carlos thought morbidly that this made him look a bit more like his hollow eyed double ‘Hey there Trying.’ He began, his tone a robotic enactment of this particular segment of the show ‘It sounds to me like you have communication issues-’

‘No no Cecil, this won’t work.’ Carlos whispered in frustration, frowning at the blankness in his two usual eyes and the wide-awake intensity of third one. 

‘I would suggest using your own abilities to meet him on the astral plane, there your feelings can be more easily conveyed than by a conventional, face to face conversation. If you are unable to astral project then I suggest making a ritual sacrifice oooor chanting in your bloodstone circle, in this plain of existence or any other level that you can mutually reach. Then, direct him towards you using Mongolian throat singing, your aura or perhaps a musical instrument. Good luck!’

Carlos got up on his feet and looked around wildly but before Cecil began again he moved closer and said ‘I’ve called in just to ask you if you know anything about what’s going on now inside the home of Cecil Palmer and Carlos the Scientist.’ 

‘Perfect Carlos,’ Cecil sighed happily. 

His boyfriend leapt to his side, ready to ease him out of his state, but there was no light in Cecil’s eyes. Carlos leaned over to look at him more closely. Nothing, he was still- Cecil’s third eye suddenly stopped moving, it fixed on a point directly ahead of him, dilating quickly. ‘…Cece?’

‘Carlos.’ Cecil said his name with no hint of affection or recognition, it was a statement ‘It was decided that he did not belong. He was not supposed to find Night Vale. In the dog park the doors were shut to him. The door should never have opened for him. He was not supposed to be in Night Vale. He was not supposed to come back. He does not belong. He left the dog park. He left the desert. He came back. He left through a door. He does not belong.’ 

Carlos’ mouth was hanging open. His breathing was uneven. He crawled on all fours so he was facing his boyfriend again. What was he hearing? 

‘The doors should never have opened for him. There will be retribution. The universe will exact itself. It will right this wrong. It will exact itself. Carlos is not long for this world, he is not long for any world, he should not be in Night Vale, he should not be anywhere. Carlos will be no more.’ 

‘What?!’ Carlos found himself shouting, confused. He’ll be… no more? 

‘The sky will fall, the hound will be released, blood will be spilled, HE will fall. He door should not have been opened.’ 

‘Cecil!’ Carlos cried, frantic now, not understanding, desperate ‘Can you tell me what’s going on at the moment in the home of Cecil Palmer and Carlos The Scientist?!’ 

‘Listeners I’ve just received a…. the lights are off, they are hunched in the kitchen, he… I… I’ 

‘Come on Cecil,’ Carlos moved forward and took Cecil’s slack arm gently, then with the other hand he caressed his cheek, finding it too hot. His fever was getting worse. He looked into his eyes for some sign that he had returned ‘I’m here and I need you back with me.’ 

‘Carlos is speaking to the man…’ His voice grew panicky ‘To the man… to me, that’s me!’ 

Carlos took a big breath and tried to speak clearly, holding onto Cecil tighter now ‘I-I need you to know, Cecil, that I never intend on leaving again, and God, even if the universe really does have it out for me I’ll figure it out. I’m going to find out what it all means so I can fix it, I’m not going anywhere.’ Hauntingly Cecil was repeating everything he said a step behind, but his lovely voice was fading to a whisper with each word, Carlos swallowed and concentrated, feeling cold water drip from his hair, he embraced him, ‘Cecil, I’ve never been loved so much by someone, I’ve never loved someone this much, and I don’t have any trouble saying that because that is as solid a fact as the Earth is spherical. Though, ha, um, you might… you might just argue with me on that one, but... Um, If that never changes, not the Earth being a sphere, I mean this love we have… If that never changes, I will be here. I want to take care of you, and if not that’s ok, but for now, at the very least I need you to focus on my voice. I’m terrible with words so I’ll borrow them, I will be your special someone, I will be your other, Cecil. I want to be that person. I want to be better at being that person. Cece… I’m holding onto you, I need you to focus on that feeling, I need you back.’ 

‘you b….k’ Cecil’s whispers trailed off, the final word only a movement of his lips. Cecil’s breathing changed and his face, his posture became less rigid. All three eyes fixed on him with complete clarity. He smiled a small, sad smile as his third eye closed and then slumping forward, his other two fluttered shut. Carlos caught him before he fell, the dead weight of him nowhere near as heavy as it should be. He checked him over quickly, his breathing was a little uneven. He would need rest and care.

‘Hi Cecil,’ The scientist said, surrounding him ‘I missed you.’

‘Mhm… Carlos…’ Came a heart-breaking mumble, his voice cracking.

Moving carefully, Carlos carried his partner. Getting onto his feet was the hard part, the rest was a walk to their bedroom as he cradled him to his chest, careful not to bump his head on anything. He put Cecil down on the bed, and tugged the blanket over so that it was covering the lower half of his body. He had the look of a rag doll, ragged, limp and with the addition of just a few of the bandages that were thankfully still in place on his chest, it made him look sown together too. This did not feel like a victory. Cecil had heard, he knew it, and now he would be questioning his purpose, his existence, his humanity. Carlos had not even had time to ask questions of his own, for now it was the last thing he wanted to do.

One thing that did linger at the forefront of his mind however, somewhere, some-when or no-when there was a Cecil who died without ever having been loved deeply.

And now, just when Carlos felt ready to provide that kind of love, to be Cecil's other, something outside of them, something bigger than them now seemed to threaten that possibility.

Leaving the bedroom he poured a tall glass of water and a grabbed a packet of plain oat biscuits, placing them on the remaining side table. Running out again he gathered more disinfectant and gauze. He sat on the bed, thinking about how he should proceed. On second thought, he put the medical supplies down and he knealt, carefully, soothingly stroking his hand through the other man’s hair, meeting hot skin as he did so. He looked ill and exhausted. Carlos pressed his lips gently to his forehead, knowing instinctively that Cecil’s fever had worsened. When he rose, he wiped away the little droplets of wet he had left there from his still dripping hair with his thump. He decided his boyfriend needed water. He tried to rouse him just enough, saying his name softly, massaging little shapes into his shoulders. Cecil’s eyes opened and shut lethargically a few times, Carlos propped him up as best he could with one hand and pressed the glass to the other man’s lips. He didn’t respond at first but then he whimpered quietly, raising his own head higher off Carlos’ hand, sipping slowly, a little grateful noise echoing in the glass. When he put his head down again, Carlos knew he was immediately asleep. It was cold, so he went to the wardrobe and selected something with long sleeves, still hanging there after a year. He puts it on Cecil with great difficulty but when he finished he moved the Radio Host carefully into the recovery position, bringing up the clean bed sheets they had put on together that afternoon so that they brushed the radio host’s jaw when he breathed. 

Now Carlos needed to peel off his soaking garments and dry himself somehow. Out of their bedroom window he could see the blackest, deepest night where there should have been something else, the dusty ground, the desert horizon, the reaches of Night Vale. He walked right up to the glass, seeing his reflection in it, he stared into the void for a minute, despite the sudden drop and the rising emptiness in his stomach. Everything proceeded in a state of pre-loss.


	6. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘For all I know Carlos I might not even be human. I might not even be real. Under this,’ He gestured weakly at his own body, his own skin ‘There might be cogs and gears. I might look more like the inside of my switchboards at the station than a living thing. Or maybe I’m like the clocks, I’m just empty inside… or I have this gelatinous grey lump with hair and teeth inside of me and when you find out the truth you won’t be able to comprehend how I could ever have passed for a person, how not a soul ever noticed that I’m not what I appeared to be.’ 
> 
> Cecil is having an existential crisis and Carlos tries to pick up the pieces. All the while the fallen sky is out for blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again all! A bit of a gap this time (I had exams at uni!) but there's the next chapter for you! Also, there's a LOT more kudos here than the last time I checked, wow, thank you all so much x! 
> 
> Just two little background things... 
> 
> Firstly, there's a reference to Condos in here in which both Cecil and Carlos see their versions of perfection.  
> Here I am maintaining my theory that the dark planet lit by no sun, seemingly Cecil's idea of perfection, is a metaphor for death or non-existence. 
> 
> Secondly, my Carlos is a crybaby. He has literally cried in every chapter so far. I should add a tag about Crybaby Carlos.

Carlos had slept only in troubled fits and had woken with fitful starts. Each time, he had wondered just what it was that had disturbed him, finding himself drawn uneasily to the amazing blackness beyond the windows as though somehow it was responsible, watching. He felt frightened and on edge as though it might suddenly begin seeping in through the ill sealed glass. The void was as empty but as heavy as silence can be deafening, it had an undeniable presence. He had kept a light on beyond their room and their door open, because without it the darkness of the room would be all enveloping. It gave him the feeling that their little room could be the last stronghold of life left in Night Vale. A strange, deep loneliness had overtaken him, despite having Cecil right next to him. He wanted Cecil to explain it to him, he wanted his deep, reassuring voice to chide him, telling him this was all normal and he really should know more about this void business. Cecil, his laboured breathing… He listened to every shaky, rasping inhalation, to every shuddering exhalation. It was a wonder Carlos slept at all. He fretted over him most of the night, soothing him with careful touches and hushing whenever he stirred or murmured. The void loomed and finally Carlos had begun to dip in and out of sleep, dreaming of hooded figures and winged figures and the figure of a broken radio host slumped on the ground in a dark room. 

Loud thoughts escaped him suddenly, images fell away, forgotten forever. He found himself already sitting upright, his eyes sore and unfocused. Cecil was sitting upright too, his legs swung over the side. He had torn off the clothes Carlos had given him so that the scientist was now looking at his bare, sweat soaked back. His ribs protruded there too. Carlos wondered if it had been a good idea to clothe him and tuck him in so well last night when he had a fever. Cecil tentatively put weight on his legs and began to shakily stand up. It was the pained hiss he gave that had Carlos shooting to his feet immediately, skirting the bed to help him. The men didn’t look each other in the eye initially as Carlos offered his arm and Cecil, with little hesitation, leaned heavily on him until they crossed the threshold of their bedroom door. 

‘…I’ Cecil’s voice was horribly raspy, but he cleared it for a moment and it improved greatly, he gave a small nervous laugh ‘I need to go to the bathroom pretty badly, it’s just these pins and needles in my feet are making it difficult.’ As if to demonstrate he wiggled his toes and stamped his feet a bit, hissing some more. 

‘Oh.’ Carlos said, the tightness in his chest letting up a little. ‘Um, that’s ok… here.’ 

Carlos allowed him to let go and hobble away. As he shut the door, Carlos went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and refill Cecil’s. There had been no change to the world outside, it was as dark as it had been all the way through last night. His body clock should have been skewed from his recent time in the Desert Otherworld, but something primordial told him it should be morning. He failed to shut out the sick sink in his stomach and the disquiet that took a hold of him looking out into that blackness. As he poured the water, he spotted the semi-blunt knife from last night on the ground. He picked it up, deliberately not looking at the blade and dropped it in the murky dishwater of the tub in the sink just as he heard the toilet flush and the tap run. Cecil came out looking more upright, though he shook out his feet every few steps. He had splashed his face with water. The colour of his face was off. There hadn’t been much change to the state of his body. Cecil, now close, and gulping down the glass of water, caught Carlos looking and his eyes fell to the floor. Then they travelled to the spot where he had sat last night, where the knife had been, then over towards the door where the misplaced furniture still cluttered the entrance way. His shoulders were hunched. There was an awkward pause. Carlos wondered how long it would be before they would talk about the harm Cecil did to himself, in the meantime he tried not to look at his boyfriend’s tortured torso. Eventually Cecil put down the glass and cradled his head in his hands, breathing through them ‘Did I…Drink last night?’ 

‘I’m not sure, you might have. You were sort of channelling, or, remote viewing last night?’ Carlos was unsure exactly what to call what he saw ‘I’m not sure for how long.’ 

Air escaped Cecil’s lungs, he rubbed sleep out of his eyes, ignoring the one in the centre of his forehead, which was strangely, uncharacteristically open ‘That would explain it.’ He must have noticed Carlos looking, or maybe he just knew, because he groaned and put a hand over that mysterious extra eye and said ‘Yeah, um, I think it’s all this void that’s been around lately, it’s like there’s a conversation going on and I can’t help but listen in.’

They both scanned the fallen sky through the kitchen window for a while, pensive, almost as unsure of each other as they were of the nothingness that encompassed them. Something in Cecil’s eyes told Carlos he was deeply sad, he could almost feel it radiating from him.

‘What’s it saying?’ Carlos said, quietly, tentatively, as they stared out, hoping for a different answer to what he heard last night.

Cecil seemed to consider this, his face serious, his third eye swept left to right slowly ‘It wants blood.’ He concluded simply after some time, he didn’t elaborate. 

Carlos frowned. A weight seemed to apply itself to his chest. 

Suddenly Cecil dropped his head into his hands, whimpering and wincing, as though listening to the void pained him. When he spoke next his tone was very different ‘Can-we-go-back-to-bed-Carlos-please?’ 

‘S-sure Cece, I mean, of course.’ He bumbled, worrying that Cecil felt unwell.

Cecil let Carlos lead him back toward the bedroom, clutching on with a note of desperation that the other felt was borne of something deeper than the effects of the sky falling. Cecil skin seemed too warm, too clammy, as he grasped. When they reached the bed he seemed reluctant to want to break contact, leaning heavily on him. Carlos, highly concerned, managed to coax him down. He tucked the sheets over the lower half of his body. He tried not to look at the newly formed scabs and puffy, pink and yellowed skin around them. 

When Carlos got into bed beside him he noticed Cecil immediately moving the covers further down his legs. He was too warm. He made small noises and shuffled himself closer to Carlos.

‘Um,’ Carlos began ‘W-would you let me just um, roughly gauge how your fever’s doing? I won’t use the thermometer, just a kiss on the forehead’s all I need for now.’  
Cecil looked at him with the same expression Carlos used early on in their relationship when Cecil had playfully bluffed about small Night Vale customs and laws that dictated they must cuddle for an hour at the very least thrice a week or more, or always had to hold hands in public when the moon was in the sky. But the radio host’s sceptical look gave way to something haggard and trusting, it said “help”. 

‘Oh Cece,’ Carlos gasped in quiet distress, after pressing his lips to the other’s forehead ‘You’re burning up. God, I think you could classify this as a full-blown fever. It’s my opinion, if that matters, but it’s an informed opinion, I mean, that is to say I’m not a doctor but…’ 

The wide eyed but exhausted expression on Cecil’s face was heart-breaking ‘I won’t mind if you’re just to the point Carlos.’ 

‘I really don’t advise going into work.’

The radio host gave a sad laugh ‘I’m not sure if I have any say over that.’ 

‘You’re just going to get sicker, treating yourself like this. We need to get you to the doctor and get you on some antibiotics at the very least.’ 

The radio host nodded. Carlos noticed that he was carefully running the tips of his fingers over the lines of his wounds, barely touching, as though he was confirming just how much damage had been done to him and just how much damage he did to himself. It made the scientist wince. ‘I can manage that, I think.’ He said eventually, his hand slipping away, bringing it up to pull the covers further off him.

‘Alright.’ Carlos said.

‘Thank you, Carlos,’ Cecil mumbled. 

‘Please, you don’t need to thank me, Cece…’ Carlos began, feeling guilty. 

Cecil nodded. He sat up more, grimacing, visibly in pain, more than he had been the morning before. The bags under his eyes were the shade of heavily etched graphite. The colour of his skin seemed off. The ragged radio host spied the water by the bed and he reached over and drank it, another echo, this time one of satisfaction. Carlos watched him as he finished it and rested it, still holding it, empty on one of his raised knees. The scientist found himself wondering just how many mornings Cecil must have spent over the last year in this kind of state, facing the immensely daunting prospect of starting a new day in some kind of pain, be it physical or mental. It was this part Cecil had never really discussed with Carlos over the phone during year in the Desert Otherworld, he had provided only small insights into his struggles, underlining it with one plead: “come home.” 

Cecil glanced over at him warily as if sensing the eyes on him. He looked defeated, but frank about it. His expression told him that he wasn’t necessarily looking for an explanation, there was a resigned glaze to it that Carlos didn’t like. 

‘Cecil… I’m sorry I wasn’t here… I,’ he began, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest as well, thinking of the white lie he had fashioned in the time he had spent awake last night but he sighed, it was pointless. His eyes watered under Cecil’s gaze, feeling as though the man beside him had zero faith in him, and rightly so ‘I don’t have an excuse, Cece, not a real one. Or not one you’d accept anyway. I should have kept my promise, I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry I’m so bad at keeping promises. A-and I know I’m not as good with words as you, I’m sorry that every word I’ve managed since I arrived here has been just that, words. When I say I’ll be here I should be here, but I wasn’t.’ 

Cecil seemed to be taking this in, he opened his mouth and drew in breath, but then shut it again slowly, shaking his head slightly ‘This will take time, I knew that...’ 

That little breath Carlos took did little to relieve the tightness in his chest ‘Okay. Okay.’ He said shakily. When Cecil said no more he added ‘Feelings are important, factually speaking and while expressing them isn’t my strong point I need to know, Cecil, how you feel.’

Cecil raised an eyebrow at him as if to gauge how serious he was, his movements told the other that he had a very stiff neck. When he knew Carlos demanded an answer he banged his head softly on the headboard behind him. He closed his eyes, though one remained open, seeing things unseen to anybody else but Cecil ‘I’m not feeling good, Carlos.’ 

‘Cece…’ 

‘I…’ Cecil gestured at his body vaguely, some kind of distain in his voice but one that was harder to swallow than the kind he felt for Steve Carlsberg ‘I needed to know, if…’ 

When he trailed off Carlos was unsure of what to say but before he could fill the silence, Cecil interjected, taking him by surprise. 

‘We’re, we’re not perfect, Carlos. We really aren’t. We’re a mess. You know though Carlos, I made up my mind a while ago that I’m happy with imperfection, I can’t be your idea of perfection no less than you can be mine, especially since yours involves bubbling liquids in Erlenmeyer flasks… And you’re just too full of life to be…’ He goes sombre, restarting ‘So, it’s not imperfection that leads me to say this. Though I will say, Carlos, I wish you had tried harder to come home. I shouldn’t, but I needed you. But… I discovered something about myself, something I don’t want to put anyone through, and it’s making me wonder whether it’s a good idea for me to be with someone at all.’ 

‘…Cecil’ Carlos gasped, he spent some time with his mouth involuntarily open, his hand, equally involuntarily grasping at his chest. After a while of staring at a nonreactive Cecil, he moved so he could see him more clearly, trying to show that he was trying, that he was listening, sitting cross legged, his brow furrowed. No, he wanted to be better, he wanted just one more chance. He understood why this may be the last straw for Cecil but he needed to prove just how invested he was to making their relationship work. He knew about the tapes. Maybe if Carlos was more reliable Cecil would feel as though this revelation was something they could tackle together, but he was not reliable and his boyfriend would rather suffer alone than have the person who was supposed to be his rock fail time and again. His lungs felt like setting concrete.

Cecil looked away, seeming to fix on the floor by the bed.

‘If-if’ Carlos started shakily, he couldn’t help but fold his arms over his chest protectively ‘If that’s, oh God, if that’s how you feel Cecil I understand but-’

‘It’s what I know Carlos, it’s what I need.’ The way Cecil spat out the words, the way he contorted his mouth when he said them betrayed an internal battle Carlos couldn’t begin to understand. He continued, his voice wobbling ‘I need you to know, that despite everything, this isn’t really about you, it’s about what I think is best. I know you try Carlos, and you might fail, but you’re human… And you’ve been known to almost die trying, Carlos, for me and this town. Your heart’s in the right place. I want to know one thing though, and I don’t care if you think I wouldn’t accept it, I just need to hear it. Where were you last night?’ 

Carlos crumpled where he sat, his head dipping and tears already dropping into his lap. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with this in this way, he hadn’t expected things to go this way. He sniffed, wiping snot and salty tears away with his sleeve. Despite how cowardly he felt, he found himself saying exactly what was on his mind ‘So um, I assume you found out about the tapes and Leonard Burton?’ 

Cecil looked at him then like someone whose world was crashing down around them. 

‘That’s what I was doing too, finding it out. One of the Erika’s gave me a recording of that show yesterday, I was told it was important I listen to it, I didn’t know what was on it until I drove down to my lab after you left for work. So, I-I discovered, to a far greater extent than I had previously found, that Night Vale is temporally out of sync with at least what I perceive as a linear timeline, and out of sync with my idea of reality and history in general, if being in sync or out of sync is a valid descriptor for this… whole… mess…. I-it’s on some scale, on some plain of existence, and also not at the same time- and time really isn’t behaving right at all so we may as well write it off entirely but…’ Here he finds himself laughing, he wondered whether there are even any therapists in Night Vale, but the idea of a Night Valian therapist turned him off the idea in an instant ‘It’s just SOMETHING, whether you put it on a scale or don’t try to quantify it at all, I know I can’t comprehend it and probably never will. And, and Night Vale was destroyed once, do you know that? But something happened, and everyone’s alive and in relative safety, though that’s relative to just itself, to Night Vale, that is… If you think of it as relative to anywhere else, you find it’s really not safe at all… And I won’t even begin to describe the bizarre beginnings of this place… But then there’s you, and you, Cecil, are my boyfriend.’ 

Cecil had buried his head in the little bowl of bed sheets between his knees, wracked with sobs. Carlos moved over to him very carefully. Cecil resisted for a moment but then he leaned into the other man, allowing him to pry him slowly out of his position so that he could hold him. 

‘God, Cecil, you might have been around for a while but do you think that would phase me at this stage? I mean, I just spent the last year wondering an alternative universe inside a dog park with giant masked figures. Cecil, I’m sure you were aware, I mean, you must have been, you’re so clever, but there was a point when I discovered that time was passing at a different rate in Night Vale to-’ Carlos paused here, something taking hold of him briefly like the feeling of walking into a room and forgetting what you had intended to do or that strange moment when you realise the thing you had in your hand was no longer in your hand and you have to start searching for it, with no memory of having left it somewhere at all ‘…Where I’m…. Where I’m from… a-and I realised that a lot of time had passed by before I noticed. But you know what I did Cece? Well, first I panicked, I mean, all the clocks in Night Vale weren’t real. I panicked and then I called you about it… I had to be wrong, I just had to be… But I wasn’t… and I um, I let it pass, and then I let it go and eventually I gave my watch to you because I had found someplace, someone of far greater worth -worth being measurable in this case in gut feelings and more, you know, emotion based feelings… like love… and I was no longer anchored to a normal time, or even a normal space with normal laws of time and space governing it… As clichéd as it sounds, Cecil, I was anchored to you. And I suppose that was fine until it scared me, I mean it was a lot to take in… so I ran away. But I’m here again. That’s what happened. So, Cece…’ He shifted so that he could see his boyfriend, but he still held onto him tenderly, Cecil brought his hand up to hold the other man’s arm. Carlos began to cry again ‘Oh Cece! If you’ll have me? I mean, I could have misread everything you just said and, in that case, if you really want me gone… But I hope not Cecil, I honestly hope not. But um, if you think you’re trying to save me from something, um, remember what you said on the radio that time, maybe? “If you love something set it free?” Well, that’s how it’d play out, so I wouldn’t recommend it.’ 

Cecil gave a shaky, watery laugh into Carlos’ chest, borrowing close to him ‘Would you die of sadness because you thought I loved you or… would… you-?’ Cecil’s voice cracked horribly and then came the pained words, drawn out slowly ‘Carlos… I don’t know what I am.’ 

‘I know who you are, Ce-’ Rushing to comfort him, but Cecil broke away from him, folding his arms.

‘No, don’t say that,’ He said, now sitting on his own ‘I’m not sure if you do. I don’t even know.’ His baritone rose unevenly to a hoarse tenor.

‘Cecil-’ 

‘For all I know Carlos I might not even be human. I might not even be real. Under this,’ He gestured weakly at his own body, his own skin ‘There might be cogs and gears. I might look more like the inside of my switchboards at the station than a living thing. Or maybe I’m like the clocks, I’m just empty inside… or I have this gelatinous grey lump with hair and teeth inside of me and when you find out the truth you won’t be able to comprehend how I could ever have passed for a person, how not a soul ever noticed that I’m not what I appeared to be.’ 

The other man’s words struck Carlos, he found himself having to will himself through the beginnings of hyperventilation in order to form his own ‘You’re real, Cecil,’ He said eventually. 

‘How could you possibly know that, Carlos!’ 

‘I’m a scientist.’ Carlos didn’t sound too convinced of himself.

Cecil made an admonishing noise, then he hunched sheepishly ‘Sorry.’ 

‘But I am, and I know Cece. You’re real.’ 

‘Carlos… What proof do you have, really?’ 

‘If you’ll allow me, Cecil.’ Carlos coughed nervously. 

Cecil nodded, his brows knitted. 

Carlos took a breath ‘T-There’s something in science we call confirmation bias, but it works in other fields too, I guess… I-it’s when someone who already believes that a statement or a law, or anything really, is already true and they, whether it’s conscious or not, they, um, seek to prove it by finding evidence that supports it. Bias is when the subjective gets in the way of what should be objective. Now, what with the science and all, you know I’m no psychologist, Cece, I mean, I-I’m really bad with these things most of the time! But I understand this -If you ask me this question Cecil, I will be biased, because I’m your boyfriend, I already believe that you are real, 100% living and breathing and thinking… and very attractive… But, you know, if I were to try, I’d use the scientific method, I would start asking questions, I would observe, form a hypothesis, conduct lots of experiments and if those fail against my hypothesis I make an entirely new one based on more observation and if it does, well, I double check and triple check and check to the power of seventy-two and only then can I call it a theory. B-but luckily, I don’t think this really requires analysis. Plenty of people have asked this question about themselves, and even about the wider world… And again, what with the science and all, I’m not a philosopher, but in the end I think it actually comes down to the cogito ergo sum “I think therefore I am”. And I think if you can even understand that statement you are thinking, and you are, you know… you are.’ 

Cecil thought for a moment ‘But how can we tell we’re not just fiction? Created? Made? And remember Fey? Or that computer that was capable of love and it loved Meghan, what about-?’ 

‘Ok, don’t over think it babe. That’s um, that’s a whole, other… um, that’s a whole other thing. Not an argument for today, trust me.’ 

Cecil nodded, his eyes trailing over the bed sheets, then rising to meet Carlos’.

‘What if I’m real but I’m not… you know, human.’ 

This question is what Carlos had feared. Yes, what if he wasn’t human? But he found himself saying ‘If that were true, Cecil, it wouldn’t stop you from being a person. And… I happen to love this particular person.’

Carlos tentatively wrapped his arms further around Cecil and he found that the radio host acquiesced.

Cecil had been sitting up in the bed, swaying in his exhaustion. So Carlos propped himself up on the headboard behind him, and allowed him to nestle in between his legs, his back to Carlos’ chest. Cecil was all bones and Carlos all but bundled him up. He surrounded him carefully and planted kisses on his head whenever the feeling took him. Bringing his hand up he began massaging soothing lines and circles on the other man’s forehead and along his brow. His skin was taught there. When he whimpered a little, Carlos was extra careful not to hurt him and he made the same hushing noises as he had yesterday. After a while he felt Cecil relax and his extra eye, tapping into the strange morning that surrounded them, shut slowly. His body slackened, Cecil lid down slightly and lay with his ear to Carlos’ heart. Carlos pulled the covers up around them because while Cecil may have had a fever, he was now shivering. Carlos felt ill equipped to talk things through with his boyfriend so he remained silent, he hoped this was enough. They lay like this for some time, their breathing in- sync. Carlos couldn’t help but love the feeling of Cecil’s head on his chest, exactly where he needed him in order to protect him. ‘Carlos,’ Came a quiet voice after a while. 

‘Yes Cecil?’ 

‘Is the room spinning for you too?’ 

Ordinarily Carlos would have immediately said no, but this was Night Vale, so he checked, just in case. ‘No,’ Carlos said, concerned ‘Are you dizzy?’ 

Cecil nodded against him. 

‘Aw Cece, ok, here, have the rest of the water.’ 

He tried lean over awkwardly, Cecil a dead weight on him. He passed him the glass, finding he needed to rouse him with little words of encouragement. He made quick work of it.

‘So, um, do you feel like food…or?’ 

Another nod. Good. That was a good sign.

‘What would you like? Anything at all.’ 

He breathed and turned his face in toward Carlos like he was taking in his scent ‘I just want to be like this for a while.’ The bass of his voice rattled inside Carlos’ chest in a way that calmed and excited him simultaneously.

‘Cece, would you at least let me-?’ 

‘Please Carlos.’ Cecil interrupted pleading ‘Not for too long, just-’ 

‘Ok.’ 

‘Thank you, Carlos. And I’m sorry, for a lot of things. But mostly, I’ve admittedly not put as much thought as I should have into what you gave up to stay here with me. I’m thankful and sorry for that.’ 

‘Don’t be Cece, you’re worth staying for. Please don’t ever think otherwise.’ 

Cecil nodded, he played his finger over the line of Carlos’ collar bone, and finding, below that, the top of the scar the Scientist was left with after that night at the bowling alley. The sensation gave Carlos goose bumps. 

‘We’ll tackle whatever comes our way.’ He reassured him, his eyes on the other man, who was now rapt as he drew swirls on that pinkish patch of skin. Carlos swallowed, worrying about what Cecil had said about him being “not long for this world”. Cecil didn’t seem to remember last night. Would he be able to carry out any of the promises he had made? He knew broaching it would spook his poor boyfriend, it would also break whatever spell was currently over them and Carlos wanted it to last.

‘I’m glad you’re home.’ Cecil tipped his head up and kissed him with closed lips. 

‘I’m glad I am too.’ Carlos said returning the favour, embracing him. 

Outside all was still ominously black and empty. Dark figures, barely visible in the blackness, that had been gathering around their home suddenly dispersed in a static burst that would make an operator of a radio telescope fall out of their chair. This ominous group’s silent plotting on just how they would strip flesh, invert organs and decorate the remains were interrupted, for the moment, by something that was definitely not heavenly in origin, bolting out the view of two people, one holding the other. 

Inside one remarked to the other that the void was suddenly a little less noisy.


	7. Threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Faceless Old Woman threatens Carlos and the Secret Police are bad at their jobs. 
> 
> Also, Carlos cries again. 
> 
> Carlos edged toward the door, fearing everything as though it were boobytrapped. He leaned into the doorknob the same way Cecil might lean into his microphone, but with far less self-assurance ‘Help, Secret Police!’ he whispered loudly ‘We have what you could safely call a threat on our hands! I’m mean, it’s pretty-abstract, but it’s totally a threat. And it’s, eh, what, literally speaking, if something were to happen, could be construed as an emergency...’ 
> 
> ‘Carlos!’ Cecil said from the bed, matching his tone, and clutching the sheets to him ‘You only need to say “Help, Secret Police.” And just say “It’s an emergency.” We don’t need specifics right now!’
> 
> ‘Oh, sorry,’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey strangers! It's been a looonng time! I just moved back to Ireland and I tell ya, it's great to be home! I'm writing this from my new room. My roommate thinks I'm studying ;) I hope you like this new chapter, I believe it's a bit shorter than the others but it's action packed, I promise. I tried to make this seem like a super tense situation, I hope it translates. As always, I'd love to hear feedback from you and there's more on the way xx

Carlos woke, stirring and drawing a sudden deep breath as though he had been underwater, as an heady mix of images and feelings fell away like dry sand through his fingers. He knew immediately that the weight on him was his Cecil. He smiled sleepily. They had fallen asleep. He wanted to kiss him again, to hold him close, and then he would make food for him and they would tackle the rest as the morning (was it still morning?) went on. He placed his hand softly on his boyfriend’s head, intending to coax him gently into wakefulness but Cecil tipped up his chin to meet Carlos’ eyes. He was already awake. Cecil’s own eyes were wide (all three of them) and panicked (two of them, his third remaining as enigmatic as ever). 

Something about it made Carlos very alert ‘Cece?! What is it?’ 

‘The Faceless Old Woman,’ he said simply, naming one of his assailants.

‘I-Is she here? What did she do? Or-or say? What happened?’ he drew Cecil in protectively with one arm, with the other he propped himself up. 

‘I mean, not much but… I woke up to the feeling of someone putting their pinkie finger in my ear… she told me to look at the night stand and I did and…’ 

Beside them, draped partially over their bedside table was one of Carlos’ lab coats. That was an anomaly in itself, however the main feature of this little instalment was the knife Cecil had used on himself last night, now stabbed at a one-hundred-and-twenty-degree angle through his coat and the table, roughly in the chest, or the back, the garment was open and limp around the small surface so it was hard to tell. Though the message was clear, the details were less relevant. The Faceless Old Woman had also mashed the raspberries he bought yesterday into the area around the knife, seeming to have smeared the pink mess like it was finger-paint over the white material. The glass that was there, as well as the lamp, had been tossed to the floor. Carlos could almost hear Cecil’s delirious ramblings from last night: “The sky will fall, the hound will be released, blood will be spilled, HE will fall. The door should not have been opened.” Panic seized his lungs as though with a vice grip, setting his eyes to inspect every possible hiding place, every shadowy corner.

‘Carlos…’ Cecil said under his breath uneasily. 

‘You’ll be okay, Cece,’ Carlos began in a whisper, stirring further, looking around the room for potential listening devices he could speak into and raise the alarm ‘We’ll just call for the Secret Police, we’ll be fine.’ 

‘You don’t understand,’ there was fear in the Radio Host’s hoarse voice, he clutched onto his boyfriend as he spoke rapidly ‘She’s done all the harm she can to me - I mean, she can try, but in my dreams, I stare up passively, sometimes longingly, at a dark planet lit by no sun, and I only yesterday was faced with the impossibility of what might be immortality… Oblivion does not frighten me, dear Carlos. But the chance that you could get hurt, or worse, that truly terrifies me.’ 

‘Shh-shh,’ he hushed nervously ‘I-It will be okay. We, um, we just have to take… precautions…’

Carlos eased Cecil away from him as he slipped out of the bed…

‘Please be careful, Carlos,’ Cecil said urgently, a striking intensity in his eyes. He was still half naked. Around him the sheets had been tossed back, revealing small patches of brown and yellow where the blood and puss of Cecil’s small, newly reopened wounds had seeped into the bed clothes. He wondered what state the clothes he leant him where in.  
‘A scientist is al-’ he began.

‘No bullshit, Carlos. Be – care -ful,’ he emphasised deeply, earnestly, his voice not matching his now ragged form. 

‘Okay… Okay,’ he repeated. He found Cecil’s hand briefly, gripping it as he kissed him quickly on the head.

Carlos edged toward the door, fearing everything as though it were boobytrapped. He leaned into the doorknob the same way Cecil might lean into his microphone, but with far less self-assurance ‘Help, Secret Police!’ he whispered loudly ‘We have what you could safely call a threat on our hands! I’m mean, it’s pretty-abstract, but it’s totally a threat. And it’s, eh, what, literally speaking, if something were to happen, could be construed as an emergency...’ 

‘Carlos!’ Cecil said from the bed, matching his tone, and clutching the sheets to him ‘You only need to say “Help, Secret Police.” And just say “It’s an emergency.” We don’t need specifics right now!’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Carlos looked back to the doorknob and started again ‘Help, Secret Police! It’s an emergen-’ 

Carlos was cut off by the sound of the doorbell. He turned his head back around to convey his confusion to Cecil ‘Is that...? They wouldn’t just ring the doorbell, would they?’  
Cecil furrowed his brow, his look said “Carlos, you should know they always knock.” He muffled a groan ‘Oh course they would! They wouldn’t just burst in and invade our home!’ Cecil said, still whispering but this time loudly, rendering the whole exercise pointless.

‘Alright,’ Carlos nodded. Cecil was usually right when it came to the quirks of this town. 

‘But it could be a cunning trick! The Faceless Old Woman Who’s Now a Fugitive from the Law and Not So Secretly Hiding in Our Home is pretty adept at tricks. It was kind of what she did all day, y’know, in our, and other people’s homes, before becoming a mayoral candidate,’ he hissed, as an afterthought. 

‘Yeah. I got that,’ he hissed back with anxiety.

 

They stayed like that for a moment, with Carlos crouched ridiculously over the doorknob of their bedroom door and Cecil, clutching the bedsheets to him like a safety blanket. The doorbell rang again. 

‘I suppose I should be getting that? Or, uh, a-answering it, that is...’Carlos trailed off. He quickly dove back towards Cecil and planted a kiss on his head ‘Stay put, Cece. If anything... Um, just shout?’ 

Cecil returned the kiss quickly ‘Keep to the walls and be vigilant. She’s probably still here.’ 

‘Alright...’ Carlos breathed as he slipped out and began sliding along the walls of their home. It was still incredibly dark, and working by feel in a space he had not lived in for over a year was a challenge to say the least as he stumbled, stubbed his toe, expecting his trailing hands to find a light switch when all he felt was bare wall. 

The kitchen was lit dully by the strip-light under of the extractor fan. Carlos passed through the kitchen. He briefly looked up at his ragged reflection in the window, made all the more mirror like by the deep black of the void around them. Then movement, a shadow detaching itself from a corner, a flat glint… someone with a-! 

Carlos shouted and ducked as a pint glass was hurled into the window. The glass shattered with force into the sink and over the hunched scientist with his arms raised defensively above his head. 

‘Carlos!!’ he heard Cecil from the bedroom in the midst of his reactionary haze. This was a fight or flight kind of scenario and Carlos has chosen flight. 

‘I’m fine, I-!’ he tumbled away awkwardly, his heart over the Night Valian legal limit for beats per second, not having time to be mindful of the glass on the floor as a second was thrown at him from he-did-not-know-where, narrowly missing him this time and smashing as the first one had. This left palm was already dripping with blood where a shard had slipped into his skin in his frantic scramble. He got to his feet in a stumbling run and bolted for the front door. He found that he was splashing as he ran in a shallow puddle on the floor, the roof was still leaking. He wrestled with the lock for a moment and tried to take a look before he swung it fully open. Sure enough, it was the secret police. Two officers clad head to toe in armour. Carlos swung the door open, immediately pressing his back against the wood to keep it open. He was cradling his hand ‘Faceless-Old-Woman’s-after-us-she’s-violent-quick!’ he gasped, his eyes darting in Cecil’s direction.

They stormed in, passed Carlos and into their home. Carlos threw his head back and panted against the door, feeling that little bit safer backed up against something. He could hear them checking over the house and talking to Cecil. Then he noticed the void outside, just beyond their front step and he suddenly felt a little bit less safe. He watched. It was deep and unmoving. He could swear that it was emitting an incredibly deep and low hum. He was sure he could feel it more than he could hear it. An unsettling vibration in his chest. He knew he should be paying attention because of the Murderous and Faceless Old Woman Somewhere in Their Home but there was something-

‘Don’t turn around,’ came an intimate, female whisper behind him. Carlos froze. He still had the knife in his hand. She was just behind the door, slotted into a tiny space on the other side. He looked at the Secret Police Officer just in front of him, their back turned. He willed them to notice. They did not. ‘Don’t move. Move or turn around, or make a single sound from behind those perfect teeth of yours and I’ll put this rather sharp cheese knife I stole from your kitchen drawer into your neck… right here…’ he felt the back of an icy finger stroke his pulse point. Her voice was even. His pulse was not ‘…where, I’d imagine, you probably don’t want it… The knife has this little forked tip that I like and a walnut handle. You know the one. It’s from that set you won at that raffle, the one at the middle school, remember? You and Cecil gave twenty dollars to the Tarantula Literacy Fund and you won a set of knives and a hamper of severed dolls heads… I put some of those heads into your shampoo bottles and your milk jug that evening… I think I’ll keep it, this knife… It will come in handy later… If you let me slip out unnoticed now, I’ll give you a head start. It will be more fun this way. Remember, I’m only doing this because I enjoy my freedom and I would rather not end up like my running mate. Harming you right now would probably get me caught. Maybe. I won’t take the risk. Until then, I would suggest you get your affairs in order, dear Carlos.’ 

Carlos tried to catch her in his peripherals but panicked tears washed over the image. Suddenly, there was a hand running along his scalp and through his hair. She did this softly at first, but he began to dig in her nails as she spoke. Terrified, he looked all around or some kind of help, in doing so, he noticed that little miraculous flower by the front door, still alive and blooming, startlingly white against the dark. The officers were looking everywhere else but his direction.

‘I always quite liked your hair, pity…’ she plucked a hair from his head with a sharp movement ‘Now. Step away from the door and close your eyes.’ 

Carlos felt sick. He hesitated. He shuffled forward slowly. He did not want to close his eyes. Finally, he could see one of the officers look towards him now, their body language betraying puzzlement. Carlos was sure his own body language would say enough about his predicament but the Secret Policeperson didn’t seem to be getting the hint. 

‘Close your eyes, Carlos,’ she warned testily. 

Carlos flitted his eyes over, he could see Cecil now, he was out of bed, having donned Carlos’ t-shirt again. Cecil looked at him. Cecil noticed and with controlled panic he drew the attention of the officers. Carlos closed his eyes.

‘There!’ shouted an officer.

Carlos trembled. He heard the heavy footsteps coming toward him. He felt a rush of air pass him. He felt blood running down his fingers. 

‘Don’t let her-! Follow her!’

Carlos did not know if it was safe to open his eyes. But his mind was reeling at the loss of one of his senses in a situation in which it would be ideal to have them all.

‘Carlos..?’ Cecil said softly beside him, a welcome voice in the dark. Carlos felt a tentative, permission seeking hand on his shoulder and he did not flinch. He raised his own hand to lay over his boyfriend’s. He was amazed at the almost instant calm this gesture afforded him. For all Carlos’ airs about self-reliance, love did so much to placate and heal and inspire. 

Carlos opened his eyes and stopped holding his breath. Cecil also stopped holding his breath. 

‘Carlos,’ he sighed, deeply relieved ‘I’m glad you’re… Carlos, are you bleeding?’ 

‘I have a piece of glass in my hand, I’m going to have to get it out,’ the scientist explained, raising his hand inspecting the ragged, bloody triangle. 

‘I’ll help you,’ Cecil said, his voice made him sound more decisive than he looked, his skin having taken on what Carlos imagined to be a tinge of green. 

‘Thank you, Cecil,’ Carlos gripping the radio host’s hand a bit tighter before he realised it.

As they walked toward the kitchen, ignoring the water on the floor, Cecil gave him an astute glance, reading something in Carlos’ eyes, or something in air ‘She’s after you now, isn’t she?’ 

Carlos nodded slowly. The panic was back ‘I know she’s after me because you were technically the one defending Dana and keeping she and Hiram from exacting some strange pride-revenge… A-and I hope you know that none of it is your fault, Cece. I need you not to think that this is your fault… But I also think that something else could be happening here as well… And by happening I mean a set of incidences and possible future incidences all correlating to one scientifically impossible circumstance or, I don’t know… premonition? Last night you said something that scared me, Cece, and again, it’s not your fault… You said-’

Just then the officers marched back in, closing the door behind them ‘We’ve… eliminated the threat, Mister Ceh-ssal, sir!’ one said with a mixture of officiality, inexperience and out of breath gasping. 

“Ceh-ssal” grimaced, his radio voice taking over ‘You didn’t so much as eliminate the threat as you did watch her flee, and… new recruits, I presume?’  
The armoured people looked at one another. 

‘Just… Just call me Palmer. That’s all.’ 

‘Yes, Mister PaL-Mer,’ they said in unison. 

‘UuuuGh,’ Cecil hacked, as though Steve Carlsberg was in the room. 

At this point (the point where his boyfriend had begun to bang his head against the wood of a nearby wall) Carlos took over. ‘W-would it be okay if of both, um, stood guard? I mean, we kind of need to get on with our days, technically speaking, without being murdered by a Faceless Former Mayoral Candidate. A-and ugh, could I make a statement afterwards, when I’m done?’ 

‘Of course. Go ahead, Mister Scientist, we’ll be here.’ 

Carlos held the bridge of his nose with his uninjured hand and sighed. He heard Cecil’s headbanging stop momentarily, then intensify ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly as he ushered Cecil into the bedroom and away from the scene he was making.


	8. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Carlos take a trip to the bowling alley to get patched up by Teddy Williams.  
> The universe is well and truly after Carlos.  
> Carlos cries again.  
> Cecil offers his opinion on baristas. 
> 
> '...But I want to see my interns do some real work, you know? Not make coffee all day. And I want to see baristas make coffee all day, like they were born to do. Station management would probably object to the idea of having one around, but I’ll probably never find out. I’m too cripplingly afraid to ask…. I’m still unsure exactly who or what station management is... And for that matter I’m not too sure about baristas either. If they are both what I think they are: something terrible and ancient, then it’s a well-known fact that terrible and ancient things can often clash with other terrible and ancient things because of, I don’t know, some terrible and ancient war or blood feud. Better not to risk it.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :D! Here's a super long chapter to make up for the fact the last one was so short. I'm really enjoying this little fanfiction and I hope you do too! I added a gratuitous weather at the end. I couldn't help it. It's been my jam for a while now ;)
> 
> Note: I think the way Carlos and Cecil say each other's name in the podcast is the cutest damn thing on this earth so they tend to say each others name a lot in this, if you haven't already noticed.
> 
> AAAAnd your feedback has been so so nice!! OMG! <3 Thank you :D!! 
> 
> *Takes a lil' ol' bow* ;)

In the bedroom, Cecil leaned against the closed door and sighed out a small release of tension, in a similar gesture to Carlos’ earlier one. Carlos’ lab coat was still, there, pinned to the table like a modern art installation. This piece of art, however, was clearly made to unsettle. Cecil closed his eyes. In the silence, watching the slow fall of the radio host’s chest as he exhaled, Carlos could swear he could still feel that eerie hum. It was noticeable now, strong enough that the absence of actual sound had become alarming, as though he were standing at the edge of a crowd during an open-air concert, feeling the music through his body without input from his ears. He sat on the bed and inspected his hand. When he pressed the bloody skin around the wound with his fingers the sting hardly registered as his mind raced through the possibilities, the impossible possibilities of the hum’s origin. Was this coming from that heavy, all enveloping darkness that he had almost died in last night? Was this the void, the cruel frequency or message from the universe that his poor Cecil had picked up on and amplified? He remembered how absent his boyfriend had been, as though he himself were a radio, inanimate. He hated to think of Cecil as vulnerable but… He was certainty sensitive, in more ways than one. That ability to “keep on eye” on the denizens of Night Vale also had a darker side, one that could turn the Voice of Night vale into an unwilling receiver. The Glow Cloud, the Woman from Italy; higher entities in Night Vale seemed to delight in using him to communicate their need for worship, their need to be feared. Cecil could even be made to do anything by a skilled enough puppeteer. 

Carlos had not been around to protect him.

Carlos was in Night Vale now, home (if it could be called that), but he was still, in one way or another, causing as much pain, stress and heart ache to Cecil as he had when he was in the Desert Otherworld, maybe even more so. And now, he needed to tell him what he said last night.

‘-los? Um, Carlos?’ Cecil was leaning over, wincing at the movement, his brows kitted in concern over his exhausted eyes. 

‘I’m sorry, Cecil, I was spaced out. I didn’t mean not to listen,’ Carlos shook his head, distressed. 

‘I-it’s okay. I have the first aid kit,’ he said tentatively as he sat down beside the scientist, placing the green box in lap ‘I’m sorry my stomach isn’t as strong as yours. And my first aid knowledge is limited to a few very minor healing charms and it would probably require a lot of bloodletting, I’m not sure if-’

‘The first aid kit is just fine, honey,’ Carlos said carefully. 

He watched as Cecil rummaged, picking out a pair of tweezers, a cotton pad and the same little bottle of antiseptic that Carlos had used on Cecil yesterday. He paused ‘Do you want to do this or will I? I only say this because I know you like to…’ 

Carlos knew the missing words were “be in control.” While this was true, however, he was unsure as to whether Cecil was capable of doing it. Against his better judgement, however, and purely for the purpose of proving to Cecil that he could allow others to help him once in a while he said ‘No, no… I’d rather you did it, i-if that’s not too much trouble for you.’

‘Carlos, you have glass in your hand, a big piece of glass in your hand actually. Of course, it’s not too much trouble,’ he swallowed. 

Cecil rested Carlos’ hand on his own leg, reminding Carlos again of the raging fever his boyfriend was suffering from, thinking just how much Cecil needed to be on antibiotics and on bedrest. He held Carlos’ wrist with heart-melting gentleness. Carlos looked at Cecil’s wrists, seeing the bruises that were still there, now blooming deep purple. He wondered how they had come to this exact point. 

‘I’m not sure – I assume, I just, do it slowly?’ 

‘Yeah, just-‘ Carlos breathed, if he could close his eyes and let a knife wielding Faceless Old Woman pass him in the knowledge that Cecil and the Secret Police People were just a few metres away from him, he could do this ‘I trust you.’ 

Cecil braced Carlos’ hand and took a hold of the glass with the tweezers, his hand shaking just slightly ‘Tell me when you’re ready, Carlos.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah I’m ready.’ 

‘If you want me to stop-’

‘Cece, it’s okay.’ 

Cecil began pulling up the glass ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’ he whispered under his breath. 

Carlos hissed and looked away, the sensation seemed stranger when he watched it.

As the glass came free of his skin, the tweezers slipped further up the bloody shard until Cecil lost his grip in one sharp movement, jarring the glass. 

‘Ah!’ Carlos cried, doubling over as he yanked his hand free of Cecil. 

‘Oh no, Carlos, I-I’m so s-sorry, I-’ Cecil stammered uncharacteristically, leaning away and raising his hands as if in surrender.

Carlos breathed through the sting ‘No, Cecil, it’s okay, it was the tweezers. D-do you think that maybe you could try using your fingers instead? I-If you don’t want to it’s okay. It’s, ah, i-it’s just a bit slippery...’ 

Cecil nodded and shuffled closer. He waited for Carlos to offer his hand to him. He waited for a sign from Carlos to consent and then proceeded to pull the glass out with the softest, butterfly like touch. It hurt a lot less this way and soon he pulled out the last, horrible hooked corner. Blood welled were it had been. All in all, it had been about the size and shape of a door key.  
Both of them let go of saved up breaths. 

Carlos kissed Cecil on the temple for his trouble. Cecil kissed him back, this time on the lips.

Carlos inspected the deep, bloody hole. It looked to be free of any shards. 

‘Can you pass me some gauze? I just want to mop up the, you know, blood. Mop? Soak? Soak. Soak up,’ Carlos said nervously, gazing again at his ruined lap coat ‘Ok, now, can you help me disinfect this and cover it temporarily, Cece? I want to go to the bowling alley straight away after this, that is, if you want to… I think we both need to see Teddy Williams.’ 

‘You’re wrhigh,’ Cecil concurred, ripping bandage tape between his teeth for him as Carlos dabbed his own hand with antiseptic. Once it was done Carlos swallowed, he started to open his mouth to speak but Cecil was hastily tidying up the first aid knit paraphernalia ‘We’re going to need to hurry then, before bowling league starts and Teddy’s too busy to take patients. He’s a busy man, Teddy Williams. He’s the owns the only bowling alley in town, can you imagine!’ Cecil gave an exaggerated shiver ‘Some people end up going to Night Vale General instead to avoid the queues, those poor souls.’ 

‘But surely if someone really needed help he’d take them in first? Like triage, you know, medically speaking,’ Carlos suggested, trying to ignore that Cecil suggested they avoid meeting their friends. Carlos could understand why.

Cecil scoffed ‘It’s first come first serve at the Bowling Alley. What, do you think they’d take a lane away from a group of hooded figures just because a birthday party arrived? I think not.’  
‘That’s…’ Carlos started, dumbfounded ‘That’s not…’

‘You were lucky that the Apache Tracker was already dead. Teddy might have decided he was first in line and you could have-’

‘-Cecil!’ Carlos cried, horrified. 

The radio host kneaded his forehead, just above his still open third eye ‘Sorry I didn’t mean that… I don’t know where that came from… I’m sorry… I’m going to… try… to have a shower,’ he lay a hand over his abdomen, a melancholy look suddenly washing over his features ‘You should too.’

‘What are you trying to say?’ Carlos said warily. 

‘Carlos, your hair’s still wet from last night. And I’m pretty sure you still have dried mud somewhere.’ 

‘Good point,’ Carlos said, rising. He offered Cecil his unbandaged hand. Cecil look it and brought himself to his feet a lot more weakly than Carlos would have hoped ‘Still dizzy?’  
Cecil nodded.

‘Okay, honey, let’s definitely go to Teddy’s… after we stop somewhere for breakfast.’ 

 

***

 

The slums of the barista district were even more poignant somehow in the emptiness of the void. 

At the usual spot where Cecil ordered his coffee was a familiar suited figure, standing in line and playing with the change in her hand as she seemed to consider the void below her feet. Cecil’s pace did not falter as he approached and he seemed unperturbed, his walk neither halting nor slowing. But Carlos could feel, or imagined he could feel, tension radiating from the Radio Host, manifesting itself as a physical pressure in his chest. Maybe the scientist did indeed have latent abilities and should have tried meeting Cecil on the astral plane as per his episode induced advice. Every now and then Cecil still whispered some of the information he received from the void, barely audible and as short and structured as a haiku. 

Dana spoke to the barista very kindly as she ordered two coffees, one with very specific instructions. She also selected a muffin. When the coffees where ready she carried all three items, the muffin balanced carefully on one cup as she walked down the queue she stopped when she reached Cecil and Carlos. Her smile was sad. She passed Cecil one of the coffees, he took it. She was making the kind of eye contact that betrayed a lack of confidence but no lack of bravery. Cecil gave a gentlemanly bow of the head and a thin smile. She pressed the muffin into Carlos’ hands, it was spelt and banana. 

She kissed Cecil on the cheek before leaving. She walked in the direction of City Council, her heals clicking on the invisible road.

Carlos ordered a coffee and two bowls of gluten-free granola. As they made their way to a nearby bench, looking all too bizarre in the expanse of fallen sky, they spied huddles of barista practising the meticulous creation of complex patterns and powerful ancient runes on the tops of lattes. 

As if to backup this point Cecil leans forward, now sitting and says in a low voice ‘I’d give them a job if I could, I mean, the interns can take quite a long time hammering coffee and it would increase productivity to have a barista or two around. I don’t mean to sound… Strexy… But they could be using all that time (Whatever that is, am I right?) to do plenty of valuable investigative journalism in the field. You know, like THE field? The one out the back of the Abandoned Missile Silo that spits out ravenous blood thirsty chinchillas every other month as if from a great, toothless mouth? Well intern Karen could have been on the scene a lot faster when it happened again last week if a barista could only take over that portion of her job. And I’m sure, um, Leonard Burton didn’t have me make coffee too often when I was interning at the station, not that I can remember… And you know what? I have the feeling that this whole coffee thing was an order from station management way back, but again, I really can’t remember. I just have this sort of inkling, call it atavism, that it’s a habitual, almost pseudo-religious act Station Management would be inclined to decry the absence of if we were to stop. So, I make sure that I, or an intern does it every morning, just in case… But I want to see my interns do some real work, you know? Not make coffee all day. And I want to see baristas make coffee all day, like they were born to do. Station management would probably object to the idea of having one around, but I’ll probably never find out. I’m too cripplingly afraid to ask…. I’m still unsure exactly who or what station management is... And for that matter I’m not too sure about baristas either. If they are both what I think they are: something terrible and ancient, then it’s a well-known fact that terrible and ancient things can often clash with other terrible and ancient things because of, I don’t know, some terrible and ancient war or blood feud. Better not to risk it. I did try to tell a barista about our great internship programme at the station once but they seemed uninterested in pursuing any other kind of career. And mildly terrified. Mm,’ he slipped ‘They do quality work, I don’t blame them. I can’t imagine myself as anything other than what I am either,’ he took another sip ‘We have that in common.’

Carlos chuckled and shook his head at his boyfriend’s tangent. He missed this. He looked across the bench at the other man who, while a lot more ragged than his memory of him before his year in the Desert Otherworld, was smiling just a little bit (Was that a smile?) Whatever the expression could be called, it melted the scientist’s heart ‘I suppose I’m much the same,’ he admitted.

‘We’ve all been a scientist at some point in our lives, dear Carlos, but it takes a true calling to stay a scientist and have it define you on the same kind of level as “barista” or “radio host.”’  
Carlos shook his head and snorted ‘Cecil, that’s… Technically speaking… Nevermind. But em, you know, we’re not just our careers. I mean, you’re really good at wood carving and writing Jaws fanfiction that probably-no-one-asked-for-but-that-actually-has-a-great-plot-and-shows-real-honest-to-god-depth. And I can cook and I can act pretty well, I think.’ 

Cecil nodded, seeming to take this in. He was happy they weren’t discussing this mornings events, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to do it. He wasn’t ready to talk yet. He looked slowly about, around the barista district, lingering on a group (a pack? A murder? A latte, turkey cranberry panini and a blueberry muffin?) of baristas looking bored as they sat on burlap sacks filled with unhammered coffee beans. Then he looked down at the infinity of darkness and stars below them ‘This is weird,’ he concluded. 

‘Even for you?’ Carlos tried with an awkward laugh, unsure what to make of the seriousness in his boyfriend’s voice. 

Cecil didn’t look too amused, he raised an eyebrow at Carlos then looked down again. 

It was weird. They were sitting in the midst of the ever-expanding universe, an unfathomable amount of nothing all around them. 

Cecil made his way through his granola and picked at his half of the spelt muffin (Carlos insisted they share it). He was relieved that Cecil still had his appetite. The other man seemed to transform with every bite, energy at least partially restored.

‘That was sweet of Dana,’ Carlos ventured ‘To give us the coffee and the muffin.’

‘It was,’ Cecil nodded. He paused ‘Maybe, when I’m better, we can invite her for dinner.’ 

Carlos was even more relieved to hear those words. Cecil sounded committed to these two things ‘That sounds great, Cece,’ he smiled. 

‘We should get going, we’ll be late for Teddy,’ 

Then, passed his boyfriend, who was steadily demolishing his breakfast, Carlos saw them, almost camouflaged in the fallen sky.

Three hooded figures advanced at a snail’s pace, but advanced all the same. The citizens and baristas parted before them instinctively. They seemed to glide rather than walk as they came closer. Carlos was panicking. He shoved the last of the muffin into his mouth and rose off his bench seat. Cecil, having finished his food, luckily followed suit, picking up his coffee to finish on the go. Made to leave the barista district but the location of Cecil's car meant that they would have to cross paths with the ominous group. He walked exactly by Cecil’s side, taking, terrifyingly, the side closer to the hooded figures in order to keep a good eye on them. Reaching the edge of the makeshift kiosks and lines of aproned people that make up the barista district they passed them. 

‘Don’t do anything please, don’t-’ Carlos mouthed but he was stopped off by what sounded like static and the squeal of machinery cut through the relative quiet.

The hooded figures were rising, hovering three or four feet above where the ground should be.

Cecil suddenly stopped in his tracks arms akimbo ‘Huh!’ he said, astonished and unconcerned ‘They usually just do that around recording equipment.’ 

‘Yeah um, that is pretty weird…’ Carlos said shakily, every bit of his body language conveying that he wanted to leave. They were only across the street from them. It was far, far too close for comfort. 

‘It’s a weird morning, like I said,’ Cecil mumbled, following Carlos.

The hooded figures did not follow them

 

*** 

 

‘If there’s a lane free, you get a free game, that’s the deal, take it or leave it,’ Teddy Williams shrugged, now behind the counter of his bowling alley.

Around them were the sounds of bowling balls racing down the lanes, the scattering of coated wooden pins and the intermittent music, bleeps, revs, shots, shouts and blood curdling screams from the unattended arcade games.

They had both just been seen by this very same man. Teddy had decided that Carlos needed two stitches in his hand after eyeballing it gruffly. He had cleaned, disinfected and numbed the area before beginning and neatly taping a square shaped pad to his hand and providing him with instructions on how to care for it that were startlingly lucid for Night Vale. Despite the strange duel role Teddy served in this strange town, Carlos was relieved that he was competent. When it was Cecil’s turn (Carlos had insisted Cecil be seen first, but Teddy, reinforcing what Cecil had said about a first-come-first-serve policy, had refused on the basis that Carlos had walked in a few steps in front of Cecil) he went in alone. He had been with Teddy for a substantial amount of time, and in all that time Carlos had fretted at the edges of his new bandages and had chewed his lips incessantly, deeply worried for his boyfriend. Now, standing beside him, the scientist could see the hit of bandages under Cecil’s shirt and a strip of antibiotics in his breast pocket, one pill already missing. His shirt would have looked like it was straight out of a 70s sitcom had it not been paired with purple lace-up leggings and hiking boots. He fitted in with the décor of the bowling alley. 

Carlos fully expected Cecil to say no to the offer of bowling.

‘We’ll take it,’ Cecil said, after checking his watch, what used to be Carlos’ watch. Carlos doubted it was of any use anymore, having been in Night Vale for three years now. 

‘Right then,’ Teddy sighed, bending down and plucking a pair of shoes out of their compartment. He Slapped them down on the counter ‘There’s yours Cecil, not too big, not too small. 

Remind me of your size, Carlos?’ 

‘I don’t think-’ Carlos began apprehensively. 

‘-it’s okay Carlos, I’ll be careful. Besides, it’s been a while since I played, may as well get some practice in,’ Cecil’s tone became soft ‘I’m hoping that I’ll be able to play again soon, Josie has been hounding me with text messages… though I think the Erika’s must have written them for her.’

‘Aw, Cece,’ Carlos sighed, proud of his boyfriend but glancing at him nonetheless and wondering about his ability to bowl with his bruised wrist and whatever Teddy had to do with the gashes and burns that peppered his body. He turned his attention back to Teddy ‘I’m a 10.5.’ 

‘An awkward one huh? 10 or 11?’ 

’11,’ Carlos relented, taking his shoes from Teddy. When he turned around, Cecil was having trouble bending to tie his shoes ‘Can I help you, Cecil? You can say no but-’

‘It’s the dressings Teddy gave me,’ Cecil explained tiredly, nodding for Carlos to go ahead ‘I can’t bend my middle all that well.’

Carlos bent down and double knotted Cecil’s laces in a parody of a proposal stance on the popcorn incrusted, colourful patterned carpet. With a pang, Carlos wondered if he would ever get the chance to ask him, given what the void had said about what was in store for him. That those words had spilled from Cecil’s unwilling lips gave Carlos shivers. When he rose, he kissed those lips quickly and chastely as though it could erase every forced syllable. 

When they reached their lane, to Carlos’ relief, Cecil picked up a bowling bowl a few numbers lighter than his usual one. Carlos did the same, deciding on the same one. Two green planets with turbulent weather. Cecil spent a little bit of time at the panel and the game began. Cecil’s bowling form was on point, but exaggerated, if slightly eccentric, always ending in some quick flourish, a flick of the wrist or a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree spin on his heal before walking back to the seats. Carlos was out of practice, hitting spares when he wasn’t swinging it so it would roll ineffectually into the gutter. He couldn’t heft the balling ball the same way he usually did with his injured hand and he found, neither could Cecil. They were certainly a pair. 

‘You know, I told Teddy about this immortal thing, or whatever it is,’ Cecil said, as bad 3D animations of demented children splitting bowling pins with axes scrolled across the screen to announce every bowler’s worst nightmare, bedposts. Cecil picked up the other bowling ball ‘He said, maybe I’ve just been… whatever age I am now… for a really long time, like a lot of people in Night Vale. Maybe time and records of the past have just altered to fit around me, you know, like it does.’ 

Carlos didn’t exactly want to agree with the notion. He let Cecil finish his turn. The first bowling ball emerged up out of the dark maw of the ball retrieval machine. After it rolled into place with a little thud, Carlos saw a tiny figure walk half into the light inside the machine. It looked up at him silently, unwaveringly. He took a step back, unconsciously placing his hand protectively over the scars on his chest. Just as Carlos could hear the rumble of another ball returning, the tiny person took a step back and disappeared. 

Cecil returned, having hit neither pin. He picked up where they had left off ‘-But he told me that he can’t remember a time when I didn’t have that job, so… Maybe it’s something different.’  
‘I’m not sure if I can shed any light on it either, Cece, I’ve learned that Night Vale doesn’t like to give up its secrets. B-but, take that as a consolation, maybe it can’t be explained and that’s okay,’ Carlos said, trying not look or sound distracted as he looked for signs of more tiny people. He didn’t, however, ignore the ache in his heart for the Radio Host, he hoped that, even in his distracted state, the fact he cared deeply came across in his knitted brow and the frown on his face and in the little squeeze of the hand he gave him.

‘Maybe,’ Cecil began wryly ‘I doubt I’d want you to try and find out in either case. Maybe it is how it is. The less we think about it the better. I’m a firm believer of “drink to forget.”’  
Carlos thought about the bottles of alcohol that had peppered their home, about the smell that had still not gone away. Had he been drinking to forget then? The answer was a resounding, sad yes. He squeezed his hand again. I’m here, he wanted to say, I’ll always be here if you need me. He went forward slowly, watching the mouth of ball retrieval intently. Nothing appeared. He took a bowling ball, walked forward, and let it fly down the lane. It hit true.

‘Strike!’ he exclaimed out of habit. 

He watched Cecil fist pump the air as he returned, sharing in his victory (albeit a bit stiffy given his bandages). 

Carlos had a half-formulated thought about just how quickly he could fall back into his old life in Night Vale, if he was given the chance. He had another half formed thought that a relationship, at the most rudimental level, is sharing; the sharing of time, of victories, of loses… And a breakdown in sharing, he supposed, usually spelled breakup. 

‘Carlos…’ Cecil wasn’t looking at him, but the screen above him.

The scientist joined him. What he saw on the screen was a person with a deer’s head, at first flickering in and out and then becoming sharper. Bands of static passed regularly behind the figure, but they remained strangely in focus. There was something captivating about what they were seeing.

They heard confused noises around the bowling alley. The same image was now visible on every screen, even the ones that had been off. The word “Huntocar” faded in. That’s when the chanting started, indistinguishable words were being sad over and over again and it was growing louder by the second. It was not coming from the televisions. Carlos grabbed for Cecil’s arm, meaning to escape with him before anything else happened. Then Carlos saw them, marching along the lines of the gutters towards the onlookers, and appearing in miniature battalions from the ball retrieval machine. Everybody stopped what they were doing, bowling balls rolled into gutters, unintentionally driving into the tiny army, one person dropped their drink as they fled, cola fizzing on the vinyl floor. As the citizens of Night Vale began making their exit, the people from the small, under-ground city came ever forward, seemingly unfazed by the casualties they had sustained. 

‘Carlos, on your shoulder!’ Cecil exclaimed suddenly.

‘What?!’ Carlos used his peripherals, only to see a mini person charging forward on the ridge of his shoulder with a little sword, Carlos tried to catch her but it slashed once at her neck then drove it in. Carlos shouted at the sudden, sharp pain. His first terrifying thought was that she had hit his jugular.

Cecil’s hands were on him immediately. He snatched the little assailant away, she had taken her sword with her, the movement yanking it out of Carlos’ flesh, affording another shout from him. For the second time today, Carlos was bleeding. As Cecil dropped the feisty little creature onto a nearby seat, the scientist had a flashback to that first night at this same bowling alley, he remembered that these people had been strong enough to kill a man when they worked together. He remembered just how deep his wound had been, and how he had fallen unconscious only to find that he had been saved, but at the cost of someone else’s life. They needed to get out.

Carlos, with his bad hand on his neck and his other holding Cecil’s, pulled them away from the apocalyptic scene, the little army doubling in number by the second. He shook them off his trouser leg and knocked them off Cecil’s back. Below, trampled into the carpet among the popcorn were miniscule, mangled little bodies. Sudden miniature stony-faced and crushed people and messes of blood and flesh that had been mashed by feet. Carlos felt sick. He saw tiny infantry-people setting up weapons on the tops of arcade machines. When they reached Teddy’s desk, the bowling alley owner/general practitioner was sweeping the small, advancing waves off his counter, sending them flying. Teddy made eye contact with Carlos as they hurried out. Carlos was unsure what Teddy was trying to say. Then the chanting became distinguishable, hundreds of little voices all saying the same thing: 

‘Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar, Huntocar…’

By the time they found the exit the chanting had become a simultaneous war cry. They opened the glass doors and flung themselves outside into the unreassuring darkness with the rest of the startled bowlers, the sound fading in and out as the door swung back and forth, then finally settled.

‘Huntocar, Huntocar... Huntocar, Hunt-’ 

Carlos felt his heart hammering in his chest as he picked his way out of the crowd, still holding onto Cecil’s hand tightly. He looked down, blessing the fact that the ground around the bowling alley had not been swallowed up like it had been in the barista district, like the sky above them had. He had never imagined he could be calmed by concrete.

When he stopped, Cecil wiggled his hand loose and went to Carlos’ side ‘Let me see.’

Carlos took the pressure off hesitantly and let his boyfriend look. His neck felt sticky and warm, but he could tell instinctively that the tiny warrior did not do as much damage as she was capable of, perhaps because of Cecil’s warning and Carlos’ efforts to grab a hold of her. 

‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ Cecil breathed, frowning. 

Carlos breathed too.

The hum of the void seemed properly audible now, vibrating in his ears at the same frequency he had felt through his body earlier. He listened to it. He kept listening to it. He couldn’t avoid listening to it, the tone overwhelming him as the delayed shock took a hold of him in a sudden rush he fully expected the ground below him to succumb to the void and he would fall endlessly into the blackness and oh my god why was this happening to him how long before something finally got a hold of him before the hooded figures finally skinned him or the Faceless Old Woman stabbed him over and over with their cheese knife or the People of the Tiny Underground City finished what they started two years ago how long did he have left with- 

‘Carlos, oh sweetie, you’re safe, it’s okay…’ Cecil soothed, surprise and concern making up his tone. 

Carlos looked at him through fat tears, seeing a faded, shimmering figure and thinking bizarrely that his boyfriend looked as though he were about to be beamed up. 

‘Ce! C-Cece,’ Carlos hiccupped ‘I need… I need to tell you something… I-I-It’s some! Something you said la-lastnigh-night.’

‘C’mon, let’s get out of here,’ Cecil said evenly, taking Carlos hand once more. 

Carlos trusted Cecil to lead him with his blurred vision. 

They reached the Arby’s parking lot. 

They leaned against Cecil’s car. 

This is where it all began. 

Cecil gave Carlos the space to breathe. 

He knew him.

He knew what to do. 

He loved him. 

A car rolled out of the parking lot, it’s windows down, the radio on. It was a rerun of Cecil’s show, he could hear that familiar voice; the voice of the person who was standing before him; the voice he had listened to in his lab a long time ago when he was trying to get the courage together to ask its owner on a date; the voice of a man who might be immortal; the voice that had told him of his potential demise in the dark last night. 

And he heard the voice say:

‘Tell me, Carlos.’

And he heard the same voice say: 

 

“The weather” 

Sharon Van Etten – Peace Signs 

 

Spotify or-  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cLMdbgRf0U


	9. Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos and Cecil go back to Carlos' lab to assess the damage and Carlos tells Cecil what's been going on. 
> 
> Carlos has weird theories about how the moon works. 
> 
> Trouble brews.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey :D! Well, we're approaching the end. 
> 
> I have big plans.
> 
> BIG PLANS. 
> 
> I really wanted to add a weather to this one too but I had to resist o-o
> 
> I don't update all that regularly but you've all been great sticking with me so far! 
> 
>  
> 
> So I've been using an exclamation mark for Carlos' panicked talking, I just think it's a good way to convey the way your breath hitches, but let me know what you think.
> 
> <3

The tarmac of the Arby’s parking lot had been overtaken with what looked like the clearest night sky Carlos had ever seen, but of course, for the ever-present lights overhead. He watched them and he still understood them. It was so deeply unsettling, on a primal level, on a logical level, on any level, what his eye perceived of the swallowed world around him. Perhaps it was the very lack of perception. In Night Vale the void presented a kind of unfathomable nothingness that could drive even the most equipped philosophers to madness, and now this unfathomable nothingness had replaced much of what should be solid. It made him feel hopeless, that sudden sink in his stomach he received when he looked down at the blackness was not just his confused brain telling him that he could fall at any moment but a knowing, a surety that he was fighting an unwinnable battle against inevitability. He felt it like an approaching predator or a car, and he was a rabbit, transfixed, helpless. He wished Cecil hadn’t chosen this location, he didn’t want to taint the memories he had of it. As he smothered his short, sharp, uncontrollable breaths in Cecil’s patient arms he decided that, no, this was not where he wanted to have this conversation. For the life of him though, he couldn’t gather himself. He felt like a bundle of scattered sticks and just when he had picked up enough of himself the weight of it would be too much and he would fall apart again, taking him on a messy descent into uncontrollable sobs. It wasn’t just the threat of impending danger and death, it wasn’t the scientifically improbable revelation that something higher than him existed and that higher thing had decided that he didn’t belong in the only place he can remember feeling at home; it was the dread that sank into his core, so strong he suspected an outside influence and it was the thought of leaving Cecil alone. Alone. He had selfishly left him Cecil alone for too long and now he might die and leave him alone permanently.

‘Please talk to me, Carlos,’ Cecil said, his own voice wavering. 

‘C-could!We get in the car?’ Carlos didn’t wait for an answer, he turned and got in on the driver’s side. 

‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, but, should you be driving?’ Cecil said cautiously after he lowered himself painfully into the passenger seat and shut car door. 

‘Em, j-just! Let me p-pull in some-some!where else,’ he gasped and stuttered in reply ‘And I don’t!don’t want y-you to s-strain! yourself.’ 

Carlos took a moment, trying to slow down his breaths. He had his hands on the steering wheel, his arms straight as he tried to calm his shaking. It was on his arm that Cecil placed a tentative, caring hand and Carlos sighed at his touch. Carlos lifted that bruised hand and kissed it tenderly, wishing for a private space where they could be safe and together, where there could assuage each other’s worries, care for each other and be close. They leaned over and he kissed those violated lips again, this time, as if it would erase what was happening and transport them to that safe space.

He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Driving was difficult enough with the lack of road markings and the need to suppress the fear of falling without having to deal with pure primal panic. Because of this, Carlos drove at a crawl.

‘Uggh,’ Cecil said suddenly, face palming himself. 

‘-What’s wrong?!’ Carlos jumped, breaking just as quickly. 

‘We’re still wearing bowling shoes, is all.’ 

Carlos wanted to slam his head into the steering wheel, instead he buried his own face in his palms ‘At this stage Cece… I don’t care,’ his laugh was almost a sob, sounded unhinged. 

Cecil didn’t say anything. 

Carlos continued to drive. He felt calmer now, his voice steadying. He realised that he was heading for his lab ‘There should be shoes at the lab, I h-have a pair there and they’re should!should be a pair or two left by my team of scientists that fits you… I’m speaking in probabilities, but their high probabilities. That is if everything, l-literally speaking, hasn’t been looted or destroyed or swallowed by void by!by now.’ 

‘Why would anything be looted or destroyed?’ 

‘I kind of left in a-a-a h-hurry. I was chased by a hood!hooded figure during the storm last night... It was after I listened to that tape. I left everything open.’

Cecil let this sink in for a moment ‘You didn’t tell me,’ he said finally, quietly. 

‘I didn’t mean not to.’ 

Again, there was silence, Cecil toyed with the buttons on his colourful shirt ‘Why did your team of scientists leave without taking their shoes?’ 

‘Not all of them left,’

‘Do you think they’d mind if I borrowed-?’ 

‘-I didn’t say they were around to care if someone used their shoes either,’ Carlos clarified darkly. 

The radio host gave a barely audible ‘Oh.’ 

‘There’s a l-lot I didn’t mean not to tell you,’ Carlos admitted, looking ahead and not at Cecil as he drove. 

‘It’s okay, Carlos,’ 

‘I’m not sure if it is,’ he answered, taking the turn toward his lab. 

‘Well, what else is there then?’ 

When Carlos looked, his boyfriend was wide eyed and worrying at his lip. Carlos could feel his heart rate rise again ‘There-There’s! a few things, Cece.’ 

‘Like what?’ 

‘Just… just let me get to the lab first.’ 

 

He pulled up next to his own car. The windows and the lights were smashed in. 

When they peered inside, the seats were even ripped up and there was water damage.

‘Carlos!’ Cecil whispered, shocked ‘Who would do this to your car?’ 

The scientist took one last look inside before rising ‘It could be any number of things, or en!entities, or people, I mean, I really don’t even want to guess at this stage.’ 

‘I need you to tell me. Are you in trouble with someone? The Secret Police? A loan shark? Carlos, this is scaring me.’ 

‘I’m not in trouble. It’s something weirder than that.’ 

When Carlos and Cecil walked toward the lab they could see the open door, papers were strewn on the floor, inside and outside. Cecil was notably slow now, a look of exhaustion and perhaps nausea having come over him. Carlos, eyed him with worry and offered him his arm. He took it immediately and leaned on him heavily.   
‘Is this “something” what I was talking about last night?’ Cecil asked astutely, his voice losing much of its bass all of a sudden.

‘It is, technically speaking, what you were talking about, I suppose,’ Carlos fumbled.

They looked tentatively into the doorway, everything was dark. The floor seemed wet throughout, maybe the roof was leaking. Carlos reached in and flipped the light switches on the wall but nothing happened. Cecil offered the torch on his phone. Carlos’ heart was pounding now thinking about what could be lurking in the shadows. He asked himself why he was doing this but on top of their mission for footwear, but he needed to know, he needed to affirm that this was all indeed happening, not just for him but for Cecil. He needed to know just how much destruction had already been done. 

‘You don’t sound sure,’ Cecil ventured. 

‘I’m not.’ 

And just as he expected they crunched broken beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks with their bowling shoes as they walked and stepped on sodden research papers. The strip lights had been smashed, some of them were even hanging from the ceiling. Everything seemed to have been swept off the benches. Everything. His whole livelihood. Destroyed. The stereo he had bought from the pawn shop was on the floor and cracked open like an egg. Inside, it too was made of grey goo, just like the clocks. Carlos would drop to his knees, but he didn’t want any more glass in him. He held his head with his spare hand. He bent down and plucked his smashed phone from the wreckage. He pressed a button and it came amazingly to life in his hands. This at least, was one thing. The lockers were also intact, albeit kicked in several times. He noticed the trophy Cecil gave him, which he used to keep on a high shelf, warped, dented and in two pieces upon the floor. Tears streamed freely from his eyes. Everything was gone. Everything was coming crashing down around him.   
He noticed Cecil detach from him and pick up an errant desk lap, it’s bulb still intact. He plugged it in and the space was lit just barely. Then Cecil wrapped himself around Carlos’ back, hugging him from behind as Carlos’ breaths began to heave again. Carlos could feel the reassuring tickle of Cecil’s breath on his neck and the warmth of him. 

‘Oh, sweet Carlos,’ Cecil began ‘I’m sorry. This is all so terrible and I don’t understand why any of this is happening but I promise I’ll try everything in my power to-’

‘-I think there’s anything that can be done,’ Carlos said, closing his eyes gripping Cecil’s arm weakly with his bad hand. 

Cecil didn’t say anything for a while. Then ‘I need to sit down.’ 

Carlos pocketed his phone and reached for an overturned plastic chair on the barely illuminated floor, and guided his shaky boyfriend down onto it. He knelt next to him ‘Are you okay?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he panted, that green tinge returning ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘Of course, I’m going to worry about you…’ 

‘Just-’ he began, brows knitted and his eyes imploring ‘Tell me.’

Carlos sighed. He found that patch of floor below him was relatively free of debris so he sat down and lay his head in Cecil’s lap ‘Is this okay?’ he asked.

‘It is,’ the other man answered, sighing unevenly and reaching over to caress his cheek. 

‘I’m an idiot, Cecil,’ he groaned, burying his nose into Cecil’s leg. 

‘Don’t say that,’ the radio host hushed, running his fingers through Carlos’ hair.

‘But I am,’ he explained, making eye contact now ‘Do you know what an “idiot plot” is Cecil? It’s “a plot which is kept in motion solely by virtue of the fact that everybody involved is an idiot.” Something goes wrong and it would all be solved, or it could only be worked out if only one character tells the other what’s going on. So, I’m going to do that because for some reason things keep getting in the way - I would say “conveniently”, but it really isn’t convenient at all. And I need to tell you Cecil because I’m really not sure what all of this means and I don’t have time to try and explain this away with science. I think it was science that landed me in this situation anyway…’ 

‘Carlos,’ Cecil said laughing unstably, exhaustedly ‘Please don’t talk about fiction. I’m still doubting my existence over here and being my being a “character” is as good an explanation as any. It would explain this mess.’ 

‘Well, eh,’ Carlos looked up at Cecil, finding the angle strange ‘Y-you, um, to summarize, I suppose, you were saying something about the universe deciding I didn’t belong in Night Vale and that… It was going to exact itself and make sure that I-I stop… being.’ 

‘Stop… being…’ Cecil repeated, mouth hanging open, not understanding, or perhaps understanding entirely.

‘You… No, not you. It wasn’t you. Something said that I was not supposed to leave the Desert Otherworld. I was trapped for a reason and that reason is because I’m an outsider. I was never supposed to have found Night Vale. But now that I’ve made it back and I’ve, I don’t know, upset some kind of balance in the universe… and the only way things can be fixed is if I’m dead. It said that I wasn’t long for this world and my blood would be spilled.’

‘Carlos -no, but you came back! You came back because you belong here, with me! You said that,’ he said, something between hopefulness and hysteria in his poor voice.

‘No Cecil,’ he raised his head, now he was kneeling in front of Cecil, his mind floating a second time to a missed chance at a lifetime together ‘I came back through brute force and science. I forced myself back into Night Vale. My research was ruined, a whole year’s worth. And the person who lived there too, he was all wrong. I was wrong to hope that he could be as trustworthy and as kind as you are just because you shared a face. He was neither of those things and he wasn’t you. But it turned out that more than anything, I missed you. I came back to be with you, to be your boyfriend again. The way I was living was so…wrong. But I thought this was right, I really thought I belonged here. But something else has decided that I don’t.’

‘But it is, this is right. You belong here. There are plenty of people from out of town in Night Vale…’ 

‘But they aren’t scientists, they won’t try to unravel all of its secrets, they won’t anger ancient and terrible gods, or powerful beings, or whatever this is.’ 

‘That’s not enough to want you dead, Carlos! Reeducated, maybe, but not dead!’ Cecil’s voice wavered.

Carlos hesitated, he looked the dystopian scene of his lab, his voice was quiet, as though he knew something might be listening ‘And I don’t think an outsider has ever got so close to the Voice of Night Vale, either… Or have they?’ 

Cecil threw his head back and went tight lipped, his features scrunching as tears sprang from his eyes ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he croaked ‘To me, you’re the most important person in my life, the person I’ve waited for for my whole life, or at least what I can remember of it. But who knows… who knows.’ 

Carlos stared at the broken trophy with clouded eyes ‘The hooded figures, the Faceless Old Woman, the citizens of the tiny city under the Bowling and Arcade Fun Complex. They’re all after me.’ 

‘The Faceless Old Woman has a different motive.’ Cecil reminded him carefully. 

‘Maybe, she wants my head. She told me so herself. Cecil, the sky has literally fallen, the whole of Night Vale looks like it’s in the middle of space! Are you aware of how unscientific that is? It’s highly unscientific. And every five minutes you start chanting prophecy under your breath. It’s… something’s going to happen, Cecil, I don’t see how this can end well for us. Maybe… maybe I’ll try to leave Night Vale, but even then, it said that I didn’t belong anywhere. I’d probably meet this “fate” of mine no matter where I go.’ 

‘Carlos, don’t. We’ll figure something out, we always do.’

‘What if this is where our luck runs out. God, I mean, how I am even here!? How is any of this even here? If you can be alive here in Night Vale, after it was blasted off the face of the existence as we, or at least I, know it, isn’t it a bit of a push for me to be here too? An outsider from the real world? Maybe you really have lived a long time, or maybe the explosion was so great it scattered your timeline and warped reality irreparably – regardless, I’m sure you’ve had people love you in your life, maybe even as much as I do. And if you want to, there’s nothing to stop you from loving someone else if - Maybe you and I just weren’t supposed to-’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ his tone changed ‘…You sound so resigned... Please don’t talk like that. Don’t you think I don’t know that there may have been others, that I may have lived the equivalent of whole life times before I met you… But that doesn’t make you, that doesn’t make the here and now any less important. I love you. So, don’t you leave, or die, stay here, please. Carlos, can we please go back to focusing on you? You’re in danger! Are you really trying to convince me that I can live without you? Because yes, I probably can. But I won’t. I refuse… What was the point in your “idiot plot” speech if don’t want to figure this out?’ 

‘Okay… Okay,’ Carlos breathed shakily ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sorry too.’ 

‘You have no reason to be,’ Carlos shook his head. 

‘You heard all of this from me and I didn’t even know,’ he said under his breath, bitterly.

‘It wasn’t you.’

‘…Come back here, need you close,’ Cecil said weakly, he was looking even more unwell now. 

Carlos put his head back on Cecil’s lap. Cecil immediately began carding through his hair again, but now his fingers worried at knots. 

‘Maybe we’ll learn more if I just try to focus on the void.’ 

‘No, Cece,’ Carlos reached for his boyfriend’s hand ‘That would hurt you. Wait till you’re at the station.’ 

Cecil nodded meekly in answer ‘I want none of this,’ he began ‘I want to go back to the way it was before, before Strexcorp even came to this town. I want to hear about your science or a new recipe you want to try out or one of, I don’t know, one of your otherworldly theories about the moon or something. Remember when you told me that the moon is actually a lifeless sphere illuminated by the sun and circling us without any motive or even sentience up there in the void? I want to hear more about that. You’re perfect, Carlos. You’re so passionate. I know you tell me how much you enjoy hearing my voice, but I could listen to you for hours, I really could.’ 

‘I’m right about the moon you know,’ Carlos teased sadly, after some time, their fingers still interlocked. 

‘Carlos, what you believe about the moon is a government conspiracy designed to make you believe that the moon isn’t a government conspiracy.’ 

‘You sound like Steve Carlsberg.’ 

‘I do not. You sound like Steve Carlsberg. His falsehoods about the moon don’t sound unlike yours, except he adds far flung details like craters being made by “asteroids” that hit the moon long ago. I mean, can you even imagine? UGGhh.’ 

‘No, Cece,’ Carlos let out a few tears ‘I can’t.’ 

 

And they stayed like that, in the middle of Carlos’ ruined lab. In the middle of an impossible town. In the middle of an impossible sky. Outside, the citizens of Night Vale began to notice a rapid gathering of storm clouds above, lit by a dark luminescence the colour of bruises, their masses flashing white as though lightening were trying to escape. A cold wind started to whip through the town where previously the air had been dead still. And there was a rumbling. What was initially mistaken for thunder started to vibrate through the bones in their feet and settle as an uncomfortable vacillation in their inner ears. 

 

And somewhere. An old oak door appeared. 

 

It cracks open and casts a blinding yellow light into the void.


	10. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad things happen.  
> Carlos learns more about Cecil's public behaviour when Carlos was in the Desert Otherworld.  
> Carlos and Cecil have a fight.  
> Why don't Big Rico's just offer wheat free bases?  
> Clouds.  
> Old Town Night Vale is weirder than regular Night Vale.
> 
> Carlos does more crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi 
> 
> :3 
> 
> Okay, enjoy x

Sporting second-hand shoes, they emerged slowly from the darkness of the lab, reluctant and wary as though they were small, borrowing creatures. They hadn’t wanted to leave the lab. Together, touching, being close, they had heard the wind moan in drawn out keens, increasing and evolving as though with the stages of grief. It settled somewhere between anger and bargaining. It cried. It demanded. And they felt something beneath them, and they heard it like a million deep voices far away, the tempo accelerating, the distance closing. The broken glass on the floor vibrated minutely. Carlos could no longer soothe Cecil’s auxiliary senses with soft coos or kisses, his mind was wide open, as forced and invaded as in a break and entry. He frowned at the momentary whispers, at the fleeting glassing over of his eyes. Carlos didn’t need a seismograph to know they were on the verge of an earthquake, he didn’t need supernatural foresight to know they were about to experience the collapse of all things. 

They left the lab holding hands, stepping into a strangely solid blackness, like glass over an abyss. They squinted in the weird light from the colourful flashes of hairline lighting that crawled across the surface of the twisted blanket of cloud above. Undulatus asperatus. Nimbus undulatus asperatus. Fata consumptis. Cecil’s squeezed Carlos’ good hand tighter as the rain started. Carlos looked morbidly at his car, which reflected the frightening sky in the last of its broken windshield, thinking that there was little he could do about the damage it would sustain in the storm. He wondered if he’d even get a chance to drive it again. He thought about leaning on the hood with Cecil, watching the lights above the Arby’s and a strange ache came over him, deep in his stomach, over his chest and down his arms.

They walked a few tentative paces, pushed a door and stepped into Big Rico’s. 

They still had some time yet and Cecil, shaking and pale as he was, needed to eat. 

And anyway, they hadn’t gone yet this week. 

Inside, the menu items were backlit and buzzing. The lights above were also buzzing. The cashier, a teenager, was buzzing too, as teenagers do. The windows rattled in the wind. Somewhere inside, glasses were shaking and clinking together. Carlos wondered if and when they should dive for cover under tables and doorways.

Carlos ordered large bowls of pizza toppings for them; tomato, mozzarella, mushrooms, onions, pepperoni… He also ordered salads, trying desperately to bulk up and add nutritional value to their meal so it could get Cecil through his shift at the radio station. 

For the life of him, Carlos couldn’t understand why they didn’t just offer wheat free bases. 

The took their seats. Sitting side by side rather than across from each other. 

There weren’t many people there at the time, Josh Crayton, today a cubby California myotis, was on a table enjoying mozzarella sticks with a seated boy in a school uniform. The boy was not a flying mammal. Sarah Sultan was also there with a colleague. Josh and Sarah were currently about the same size. Cecil waved to them all. Those who could wave, waved back. 

‘The hooded figures are very fond of Big Rico’s. Any sign of trouble and we run, okay?’ Cecil whispered astutely. 

‘Okay,’ Carlos agreed quietly ‘Any sign of an earthquake and we head outside and away from buildings.’

Cecil nodded in agreement, looking at the table in front of them. 

Carlos changed topic ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like I was deemed worthy of being dropped by the Great Glow Cloud,’ Cecil droned ‘All hail.’ 

‘All hail… You mean like a dead animal?’ 

‘Exactly like a dead animal.’

Carlos rubbed his boyfriend’s back a little ‘Maybe you’ll feel better after some food?’ Carlos was unconvinced of this given the other man’s pallor and the news he had just given him, but it was something to say. 

‘Mmgh,’ Cecil groaned, dubious, putting his head in his heads. 

‘…Or not,’ Carlos relented ‘Will you try at least? If you don’t think it’ll do you any good, I mean subjectively speaking, experience of one’s body being entire subjective, unless we’re talking about perception which is an entirely different thing, um, what I mean to say is – you don’t have to eat it, if you don’t want to. J-just, let me know if you need or want anything, I’ll do anything I can for you…’ 

The conversation was strange, strangled, after being in the lab, with the uncertainty hanging over their heads. 

The cutlery on their table was hopping up and down slightly, vibrating like phones.

Cecil laid a hand over his knife and fork with not a little bit of exacerbation, stopping it. He breathed out slowly and deliberately, but his exhalation became a string of whispered words ‘Desert... belong… stop beating.’ 

He took in a sudden breath and looked about him like a student who had fallen asleep in class, as he snapped back to reality. 

Their food arrived faster than usual. Carlos told himself he should leave a tip for the buzzing young person. 

When it was placed in front of the Radio Host, he grimaced, but eventually forced himself to pick at it slowly, taking small sips of water after every few bites and seeming to prepare himself before resuming. Carlos wasn’t sure if he should watch him in concern, or pretend not to watch him in concern as he ate his own. 

Finally, Cecil pushed the food aside and buried his head in his arms on the table. 

The scientist placed a hand on him tentatively and said his name softly. 

‘Feel sick,’ came the reply. 

‘Okay uh,’ Carlos began, looking about ‘Do you want me to take you to the restroom?’ 

‘…No,’ he answered after a while. 

‘Can I help in any way?’ 

‘…No,’ he seemed less sure about this one.

‘Okay,’ Carlos, moved away a little, allowing him some breathing space. 

Carlos took some time but eventually reconciled himself with the idea that he was allowed to eat even if Cecil couldn’t. But he tried to do it as politely as possible. As he picked at his bowl of pizza toppings, he did not forget the danger that they were in. Nothing about him was at rest, he flicked his eyes about, he thought about various scenarios and how they would go about escaping. He even seemed to hover on his seat rather than sit. So, when Cecil made a panicked noise he jumped up immediately. 

‘Bathroom,’ he said quickly, eyes bulging. 

Carlos ushered him across the restaurant. They entered into a narrow little corridor and Cecil’s shuffle turned into a run. He pushed through the door, leaving it swinging and slammed into the first cubicle he came to, immediately on his hands and knees. Carlos was behind him, offering help, but in the end, he was unable to give very much. 

When he was finished, Cecil flushed and brought himself away from the bowl, visibly shaking. 

Carlos piled in beside him. They sat, gathered together on the floor of the cubicle, their backs to one of the walls. Carlos placed one of his hands-on Cecil’s burning hot forehead. Cecil leaned into it, exhausted, grateful. 

‘We should have taken your fever a lot more seriously.’ 

‘Tell me,’ Cecil asked, eyes closed, his voice reminded Carlos of how he sounded when he occasionally spoke in his sleep, slow mumbles and semi-lucid questions ‘What could we have done differently this morning?’ 

‘I haven’t taken care of you nearly as well as I should have.’ 

‘This again? Carlos…’ 

‘Sorry. I know we’ve been over this.’ 

‘We have,’ Cecil said, as decisively as he could ‘Anyway, you know I always prefer when we talk about you.’

‘I’m, ugh,‘ Carlos began, trying not to sound offended ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.’ 

They sat in silence for some time. Cecil looked like he had recovered somewhat. 

‘I-is this, that is, in your opinion, a reaction to the antibiotics or like your fever, or y’know… Everything I just told you?’ 

‘I’m not sure,’ he shrugged, opening his eyes a crack ‘All of the above, maybe?’ 

‘Right… Do you need anything?’ he offered, eyeing the sick radio host under knitted brows. 

‘C-can you get me some water?’ Cecil asked, after a little pause. 

‘Of course,’ the other obliged, rising. 

‘And um,’ the radio host looked sheepish ‘Can you shut the door over? The mirrors are uncovered here.’ 

His boyfriend tried not to give him a to pitying a glance as he pulled back the cubicle door. 

 

Carlos made his way along the corridor outside, that ache in his abdomen returning. When he reached the counter, he noticed two ominous dark figures standing in line. Carlos froze, eyes wide. They noticed him. No one moved. 

‘Ehh, sir?’ the teenager asked, ‘You and the other guy alright?’ 

Carlos came forward very slowly, keeping his eyes on the hooded figures. His brain was trying to go through the exit plans he had half formulated earlier but they were scrambling and knotting around each other now ‘My boyfriend isn’t feeling well,’ Carlos said distantly, very very aware of the threatening presence, almost as though they had changed the atmosphere of the room ‘Can we have some water?’ 

Water was poured into a disposable cup and handed to him. 

‘Thanks,’ he said, backing away as inconspicuously as possible. 

Before he re-entered the corridor, he heard Big Rico himself tut and mutter, fully aware Carlos was there ‘Bloody Palmer’s blind drunk again and vomiting in the toilets. Let’s hope it’s not as big of a mess as last time.’  
On top of everything else, Carlos’ found his fluttering, panicky heart sinking.

 

As soon as he left the restaurant floor, he hurried to Cecil, water sloshing everywhere. Before he even saw him, he was talking frantically ‘There are hooded figures here, we have to go.’ 

He pushed the door. Cecil was still on the floor. He didn’t move, but just looked up at the water in his boyfriend’s hand ‘One – step – at – a time – Carlos,’ he intoned wirily. 

Carlos bent down and passed him the water with an air of frustration but also care. 

Cecil drank. Carlos wondered about the last time he was in this restroom. When he had been in the Desert Otherworld. When Cecil had spent months solidly inebriated. For some reason, Carlos hadn’t considered that Night Vale’s beloved Radio Host could ever become a public menace. When he walked into their filthy, alcohol reeking home he had only thought of the damage Cecil had done to himself, and not his community. But Carlos didn’t have time to dwell on it any longer.

When he finished, Cecil exhaled and extended his hand. Carlos helped him rise as gently as possible, wincing when he unknowingly put pressure on his bad hand. 

‘Okay, let’s get out of here,’ Carlos whispered, before opening the door. He peeped down the corridor, one end had a large cleaning cart complete with mop and bucket, the other end was free from threatening, supernatural denizens. He felt Cecil take his forearm from behind ‘I think we’re clear.’ 

They slipped out and walked, keeping close to one wall, Carlos leading and Cecil still clutching to him. 

But just when they were reaching the end, they saw the hooded figures.

They immediately started to backpedal. Carlos was making fast for the restroom again, until he felt Cecil detach from him. The hooded figures were advancing, blackening the air about them as Carlos backed up against the door, reeling. He looked left and right frantically seeing Cecil skid for the cart, seeing bony hands reach out from dark sleeves, seeing a broom being drawn like a weapon, seeing them set their sights on the cleaning apparatus wielding man, seeing Cecil hop forward, jabbing. Then a hooded figure, right in front of him, on him. Carlos and the hooded figure fell through the restroom door and onto the tiled floor, Carlos shouting and kicking under the surprising force and weight as it pinned him down by his arms. Sulphur and ozone and rot, the smells of the Earth at its most turbulent and cruel were thick in the air between him and the thing baring down on him. And – its face, oh my god, its face! It gripped his forearms. It raised him up just slightly and slammed him down again quickly with force, winding him and hammering his skull against the floor. It did it again. And again. He vaguely heard Cecil shout for help out in the corridor and a banging and the squeaking of his boots in what could only be a struggle with the other hooded figure. The fourth violent movement was hard enough to daze him, silverfish jumping out of the brief darkness over his vision. It took his disorientation as a chance to grip him harder, something claw like popping through the skin of both his arms like a fork into pork crackling just as the silverfish burst into stars over the returned blackness. This was it. This was-

A wet mop head slapped the side of its head with a sloppy splat that would have been funny in other circumstances, as long as no bleach or other caustic chemicals were involved. The being paused and craned its head back in confusion. SLAP! It happened again, harder this time, and its grip had been loosened just enough to- Carlos broke his arms free and delivered a swinging punch to the same side, and another as he raised the corresponding leg in an attempt to slip out. It doubled down on him with a violent growl, two sharp hands now immediately around his neck. He pried at them in terror with his now free hands, flailing his legs and trying to rock it off him desperately, unable to breathe.  
The mop handle came down upon its head, and began stabbing hard into its side and where its neck should be. Thrusting, hitting, pushing. The creature toppled to the side with a frustrated, unearthly wail, and Carlos scrambled out and to his feet, and right into Cecil who was fending the other away with the mop. Cecil received him, his hands were on him and pulling him in immediately. He was relieved, scared, frantic. 

Carlos noticed that he checked him over for visible injuries with the quickest flick of his eyes as they backed down the corridor. Carlos threw his head back, indicating the cart, Cecil understood. They bolted toward the cart. Carlos got into position. 

‘Get behind me,’ he ordered. 

Cecil did so, and held on, mop waving like a limp flag. 

Carlos gripped the cart handle and charged forward with it with as much speed and power as he could muster, Cecil sticking the mop out like a lance. Cleaning products flew off in various directions, water spilling everywhere from the bucket below. The hooded figures continued their advance.

Carlos had a wayward thought about which one of them might be the damsel in distress in this situation, but concluded, having been saved by Cecil just a moment ago, and how he was now driving a highly-improvised battering ram with same, said Cecil practically glued to his back (and, he hoped, that meant protected against at least some of the impact) that those tropes not only didn’t apply, but were terribly tired. 

They slammed the cart into the hooded figures. One fell atop the cart and was thrashing and grabbing for them while Cecil fended it off, the other was knocked to the floor in the chaos and in the sudsy water that now slicked the ground. 

‘Brace yourself!’ Carlos told Cecil. 

Carlos mustered all his upper body strength and threw the cart, complete with hooded figure across the restaurant, eliciting surprised shrieks and gasps from the patrons who could shriek and gasp. It wheelied and listed before crashing into a set of empty tables and chairs and depositing its ominous load onto the floor. Carlos and Cecil sidestepped the semi flattened, soapy and hopefully dazed second being as they jogged out. 

‘Ahy! What the HELL you doin’!?’ cried Big Rico, stepping out from behind the counter, and throwing his arms in the air.

In front and behind them both hooded figures were rising, although the one in the soap was certainly having more difficulty than the other.

The patrons were staring.

Cecil held Carlos’ arm. They quickened their pace. 

Big Rico was shaking his fist now ‘Palmer I swear I’ll make hell for you, you drunk fuck! You’re gonna pay for all that damage!’ 

Carlos felt Cecil hesitate but he dragged him onwards and made to leave. However, not before he quickly dug into his left jeans pocket and slammed all the change he could grab down on their table. Three dollars, two quarters and the flaky remnants of a tissue that went through the wash a year ago.

 

They left Big Rico’s, trying not to look down at the nothing under their feet. The wind whipped about them violently and the shaking of the earth seemed a lot more noticeable how they were outside. As they made toward Cecil’s car, the radio host kept looking back and was slowing rapidly. They unlocked the car and dove into it, almost forgetting that Carlos was driving, causing a brief scramble. Carlos started the engine and pulled away immediately in no particular direction, checking the rear-view mirror compulsively until Big Rico’s was out of sight, his heart like a wild bird in a cage. But nothing followed them. Cecil threw his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes as he tried to regain his breath. He sounded like he was on the verge of an asthma attack, a heavy wheeze accompanying every inhalation, although Carlos was sure it wasn’t something Cecil suffered with. When he flicked his eyes over to him, Cecil had sweat pooling on his chin and across his brow.

As thunder broke out in the crazy cloud formation above them, they found themselves on the residential roads of Old Town. At this point, Carlos finally allowed himself to lean into the steering wheel and decrease his speed. He was only now noticing the deep ache that spread over the back of his skull, the ringing in his ears and the sharp pain that burst through his head from his irises when they were met with the lights of other, oncoming cars or street lamps. Had he suffered a head injury? Cecil hadn’t said anything. When they finally made eye contact, he softened, the shock of the last few minutes started to dissipate as though it had, until now, hung in the air inside the car like cigarette smoke. When Carlos glanced again Cecil was pulling at the passenger door frantically.

‘Pull over here,’ he said. 

‘Cecil!?’

‘Just-’

Fearing he was feeling ill Carlos pulled up into an invisible bank of sand and gravel, just on the outer reaches of Old Town, thankful it wasn’t an invisible ditch. Cecil threw open the door (or maybe the wind did most of the throwing) and swung his legs out stiffly, only to remain that way, hunched, taking in gulps of air. Out here, the only light was the strange lightening above them, which lit up vast, curve of dark cloud above at uneven intervals. The world looked very much like it was ending.  
‘Cece..?’ Carlos said tentatively, shivering at the sudden, surprising introduction of very cold air.

He took one last breath, pulled his legs back in with a pained groan and shut the door. The thunder and the rumbling of the earth, now muffled. Carlos locked the doors instinctively.

Cecil’s face was drawn and exhausted when he turned to Carlos. 

‘Sorry, I just needed air... Let me see your head,’ he said wirily, reaching up and turning on a built-in light on the ceiling of the car, turning the vehicle into a weird bubble of light in the darkness. 

Carlos swallowed, complied, and leaned toward him awkwardly in the tense silence. He felt Cecil’s careful fingers in his hair, parting it to inspect his scalp in silence. He could feel his boyfriend’s soft breath on his neck, hearing that the wheeze was thankfully gone. The act felt oddly intimate. 

Carlos thought of other circumstances in which Cecil might play his fingers through Carlos’ hair, the hair he loved so much. It had been so long since they had been together in that way. He thought of Cecil’s bare skin, the smell and the taste of it, the vocal responses he would make when Carlos pressed kisses onto different parts of him. He wanted that. He wanted the safety of their bedroom, the carefree, but oh so caring, physical expression of their feelings on a weekend morning or a late, weekday night. But above all else, he wanted them to be safe, alone and together like they should be.

Cecil brought his hand away and Carlos watched it, immediately regretting moving his eyes because of the painful stretching, snapping and jarring feeling it caused inside his skull.

‘You already have a hell of a bump on there,’ Cecil concluded, concerned ‘At least you aren’t bleeding…’ 

‘Yeah,’ Carlos nodded, blushing ‘I’m certainly feeling it, th-that is to say, the bump.’ 

Cecil caught sight of Carlos’ forearm, the holes in it, the blobs of bright, drying blood and the trails where it had recently run. He took that arm and gave a sharp, backwards hiss as through Carlos’ pain was his. His frown was heart breaking ‘So, this is really happening, then?’ 

‘I think it is, it, being the whole, universe bloodlust… thing.’ 

Cecil pulled back, he didn’t say anything for a while. The only thing to be seen in the windscreen were their own reflections and the faint bursts in the sky. Carlos watched Cecil avert his eyes quickly upon realising this. Carlos wanted to protect him, to reassure him, so very badly. He knew how these things played and preyed on his mind. Carlos had only piled more stress and mortal fear onto him, first by leaving, by not being there to protect him, and then by returning. 

Then Cecil spoke ‘If everything is happening because I’m the voice of Night Vale and you’re a scientist, maybe…‘ he trailed off.

Carlos sat up, alarmed ‘We’ve both been circling around this all day. I know what you’re getting at but, do you think I could ever stop loving you, or you could ever stop loving me?’  
Cecil didn’t answer. 

Carlos’ heart decided to miss a few beats. He wanted to know what he was thinking. He could almost see the other’s mind chewing through something unsavoury. He pursed his lips, watching the downtrodden looking radio host, ‘And… I doubt that would work, even if we tried.’

‘You can’t love me forever… There isn’t a forever for you,’ he intoned, seemingly directing the words toward his feet.

And there it was. Carlos tried to breathe through the tears now sitting on the rim of his eyes ‘We don’t even know if that’s how it works. We might have had a shot at growing old t-together as much as the next couple.’ 

Cecil was hiding now, his arms around his head and his knees drawn up, to the best of his ability with a safety belt on and with bandages around his abdomen ‘Listen to the way you’re talking, Carlos,’ he mumbled, his voice hardly audible as lighting highlighted the edges of him briefly ‘Past perfect, present conditional. It doesn’t sound like you see much of a future there, either.’ 

‘God! Listen to the way you’re talking!’ Carlos exclaimed, his arms out, tears breaking out now. The movement and the sudden activity hurt his head, but he ignored it ‘It’s a future that I want. Desperately, Cecil, desperately, if you do too.’ 

Cecil remained as he was but turned towards the passenger seat door.

‘Baby? Please just-’

‘Just what!? Why, Carlos tell me!?’ he kicked the underside of the dashboard as he swivelled to look at him ‘I hardly know what I am! I don’t even know what I look like, not really. I’m terrified of mirrors. And to top it off, I’m also the town drunk! Tell me Carlos, how can you love something like me?’ 

‘Cecil!’ 

‘And now,’ he continued, hitting out at his surroundings ‘You’re probably going to be hurt, or worse, because of me!’ 

‘Because of you!?’ Carlos shouted ‘Seriously? Because, the last time I checked, I was absent for a year while you got beaten up and cut into ribbons here at home. Oh God, Cece, and all during that time when you were hurt I just rattled off about the masked warriors and the lighthouse and the rumblings and all of my stupid science.’ 

‘I didn’t tell you,’ he said, darkly, flinching, looking away ‘You couldn’t have known.’ 

‘Yeah, it took Josie to fill me in on that. Josie,’ he growled ‘I learned about it just as you stepped into that limo, do you know that?’

‘I just-!‘ Cecil cried, exacerbated ‘When we talked about you, it was like none of it was happening. It was an escape. I liked hearing about what you were up to. Yes, I wanted you home, I needed you home, but until that could happen, I needed you to do the talking. I didn’t want to talk about me. I needed you to distract me and make me feel better, like always.’ 

‘Like always?’ Carlos felt Cecil’s words physically, a burning sensation in his chest. Something dark in his expression ‘So, you’re saying you’re with me because I’m self-absorbed? Because I don’t talk about you?’ 

‘No, I-’ Cecil said, his elbows on the dashboard now, his hands covering his face, looking very much like he had made a mistake. Then he sighed, looking directly at his boyfriend, sitting properly in the seat again. His eyes were flashing warning, his mouth was twisted, betraying his upset ‘Please don’t say it like that.’

‘Cece…’ he breathed, a little spark of anger flared inside him, his voice faltering ‘I suppose this explains things, you know emotionally, I guess. Do you understand how that might make me feel? I should have realised earlier but I was too caught up with the new world I found to ask you if you were doing okay. I was only caring about myself. Like always. I wasn’t there to protect you. I mean… that’s really… neat of me Cecil, that’s neat.’ 

‘Carlos!’ Cecil cried, shocked at the way he had used the word.

‘Yeah,’ Carlos said cruelly ‘I was there thinking about myself and my science and you weren’t going to stand up for yourself because I was doing exactly what you need -being selfish, not just… doing what I should have done, which was spending SOME time to focus on you, my boyfriend.’ 

‘No Carlos, I-’ Cecil already looked defeated and Carlos hated him for it ‘I still asked you to come home, I still needed you here.’

‘But at arm’s length, am I right?’ Carlos really wasn’t sure where all of this emotion was coming from, but he couldn’t stop ‘Because, i-in an adult, romantic relationship, you’re supposed to talk to each other, right? It’s really supposed to be a two-way thing, Cecil, and I wasn’t… I wasn’t keeping up my end of the bargain, I wasn’t good to you, and I know, I know, I should have realised but I’m self-absorbed, Cecil…. You should have said something. You should have stuck up for yourself.’ 

‘How, Carlos?’ he glowered ‘Again, even if I did catch my reflection, I probably wouldn’t know the person starring back at me. I don’t even think I’d want to know him.’

Carlos turned. He spoke unevenly, but he was considerably calmer after Cecil’s words ‘You just do. You’re a wonderful person Cecil, don’t ever think otherwise. Please, be kinder to yourself. Especially when I’m so incapable of doing it for you.’ 

 

The silence was so tense it hurt. 

 

‘So,’ Cecil began, speaking softly now ‘You’re trying to tell me that you’re at fault for what happened to me, but I’m not at fault for what’s happening to you now?’ 

Carlos grimaced, then relented, the tension leaving him ‘No, no,’ he said, dejectedly, burying his face in his hands briefly ‘It’s none of our faults, not really. I couldn’t leave, and you can’t control this. But, just hear me out… I could have been better to you. And maybe you could have opened up, too. I know it’s hard, and I understand why you would fail to mention it. I’ll be better, but I won’t force you into doing anything, I’ll look after you as best as I can within your comfort zone, okay? I promise. If we get out of this, that’s what I’ll do.’ 

Cecil wordlessly leaned over the clutch and hand brake, and Carlos did the same, opening up his arms and taking Cecil into them, ignoring the pain ‘No,’ the radio host whispered, finally answering Carlos’ question ‘I don’t think I could ever stop loving you. And you’re good to me, you are. I just need to… I need to come to terms with a lot of things.’ 

Carlos nodded. Cecil nested into the uninjured side of his neck and Carlos propped his chin up on the other man’s head and they breathed together for a moment. Much as they had not half an hour earlier, in his destroyed lab. 

‘Carlos?’ the radio host asked softly. 

‘Yes?’ he answered, matching his tone.

‘Can I try something?’ 

Carlos was puzzled, but he agreed ‘Of course.’ 

‘Just,’ Cecil’s voice was shaking as he spoke into his collarbone ‘Hold me tight, okay? And if anything happens, we run.’ 

‘What?’ Carlos began to pull away, now very confused. But then he quickly realised what was happening. 

In the windscreen in front of them he watched Cecil meet his eyes. They were wide. He was scared. In the reflection, Carlos gave him a little, sad but reassuring smile as he found his hand and held it in preparation. 

Cecil’s shaking was audible in his breath. 

His eyes moved slowly from Carlos’. Until he was looking at his own reflection. 

 

Carlos was sure to be very quiet and still as Cecil looked at his own eyes; his forehead; his strange, third eye and his hair, all as he compulsively and poignantly checked the darkness behind him. Then he moved down again, over his cheeks; his nose; his mouth; his jaw; his neck. He seemed to look at the complete picture for a while, solemnly. A burst of light outside lit his features quickly and frightenly, and Carlos felt like he could feel the ghost of the deep, daily fear that Cecil must feel. 

 

Cecil finally looked away, sighing out a held breath. 

Carlos wanted to let him speak first.

‘Okay,’ Cecil began ‘I have a little while before I have to be at the station. Let’s just have a think about this. What is it that might… make you “belong” in Night-‘ 

An awesome, deafening screaming interrupted him.

Both men yelped and thrashed, hands flailing over the doors, the brake, and the steering wheel for all of three seconds before Cecil stopped dead. 

‘Carlos,’ he said flatly, but loudly so he could be heard over the screams, to the panicking man beside him. 

‘What??’ Carlos looked about madly. 

‘It’s just the sun.’ 

‘The...?’ 

‘We’re in Old Town Night Vale,’ Cecil clarified with… was that a smirk? ‘The sun is going down.’ 

‘Oh,’ Carlos stopped before he turned the car engine back on and sat slowly back in his seat ‘Oh, yeah.’ 

‘Don’t we feel silly,’ Cecil said, folding his arms. 

‘I’m not sure if I do…’ Carlos said, speaking up as well as it grew louder, drowning out the thunder sounds ‘The fact that the sunset is accompanied by terrified screams here is still as unsettling and scientifically impossible as it was when I first heard it two years ago.’ 

‘Good thing we didn’t move here when we were looking for a place, then.’ 

‘That bungalow we saw was nice though,’ Carlos reminisced. 

‘That bungalow was very nice,’ Cecil echoed.

‘So… We can’t see the sun,’ Carlos said slowly ‘But we can still hear it? Wow, that’s a sentence I doubt I would ever have said before I came to Night Vale.’ 

‘At least we know it’s there now, somewhere… behind all that void,’ Cecil offered, Carlos had to lip read half of his words ‘And at least you’re here again, and we’re together.’ 

‘Yeah, there’s that, at least,’ Carlos smiled sadly, pulling Cecil toward him again ‘How about we just, you know, listen to the sunset a while before we start trying to figure things out?’ 

‘Sounds good, Carlos,’ Cecil agreed, reaching up and turning off the light before snuggling in.

And they listened. 

The screams built to a crescendo, just when the sky would be alive with purples and pinks and the sun should be dark yellow just above the horizon. Then they softened into yells, to the point when the stars would be appearing in a wide, blue gradient, dark, to light. And although they saw no visible change to the fallen sky around them, night still came with a whisper.


	11. Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cecil and Carlos drive back into Night Vale. 
> 
> *Trigger warning for harm to animals*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! Sorry for the delay! I was on holiday in Europe and then I started a new job :O! It's all been pretty mad, it's nice to get back into this! When I returned, I found that I've hit 101 kudos! WOW, thank you all so much!! <3 
> 
> Also
> 
> *SHOUT OUT TO WillOfTime WHO WROTE A FANFICTION "HEAVILY INSPIRED BY" MY WORK!*
> 
> It's called "Black & White" and I love it. Pop on over there and give them kudos! 
> 
> I've done most of the writing for the coming chapters so there's not much work left!
> 
> I already have ideas for the next one though, it's the opposite idea, where Carlos unquestionably belongs in Night Vale. It's going to be about past-lives and destiny and soul mates, where everything leads to Night Vale and Cecil <3.

The car was a bubble of light in the strange, darkened world. The windscreen was now a waterfall, as heavy rain slanted down on the glass outside. And inside, the windows were streaked with running condensation from what Carlos perceived as a rapid cooling of the air outside. Carlos wiped at the driver side window with the back of his hand, but saw only black when he peered out. As he watched the little swipe he made fog up again, he shivered in response to a dip in temperature. His hair stood on end, goosebumps pricked up were his shirt sleeves ended and his wrists began. They couldn’t possibly be safe here, out on the edge of town. Not now. 

‘… the versions… he is not a part… the great glowing coil of the universe… disrupt…’ Cecil whispered harshly beside him. 

Carlos froze. He looked over and Cecil was in his seat, head lolling forward. He was swaying very slowly. His features were shadowed, but Carlos could see that his lips were in constant movement, the ghost of silent or too quiet syllables upon them. 

‘He does not… he...have left the… fall apart… the end…’ 

Carlos could feel the goosebumps spread over his whole body now like static. He swallowed nervously, taking his arm off the armrest and swivelling toward him ‘Cece?’ 

‘…should not disrupt… the angels only speak lies… he comes to restore… a missionary of the…’ Cecil rasped, his head bobbing to the side. He began a slow fall in his seat.

Carlos caught him. Cecil reacted to the contact with the gasp of somebody surfacing from a body of water. He helped him right himself carefully, ‘You okay?’ he asked quietly, reaching to unstick some of the other man’s hair from his sweaty forehead with concern. 

Cecil licked his dried-out, cracked lips and swallowed thickly ‘Yeah,’ he agreed, with what sounded like a lump in his throat, ‘…No. I just. I need to get the station, I’ll be able to handle of all… this… there.’ 

‘Alright. We’ll go now. But I’m joining you, if only before the show. I need to make sure you’re okay and that you’ve everything you need.’ 

Cecil was giving a weak smile, head still lolling slightly as Carlos engaged the windscreen wipers. He peered out and saw only the beam of the headlights, the dance of fat raindrops the sole thing it illuminated. He put the car in reverse nervously, very unsure of his surroundings as thunder drowned out the sounds of the engine. 

His head was craning back painfully in order to attempt, at least, to see where they were going. Aware again of his pounding head and the small wound in his neck. Once he was somewhat satisfied that they were back on the road, he started toward the town again, Cecil’s head bobbing with the movement, his words reaching Carlos in haunting, barely audible, whispers. As they crested a small hill, Carlos could see the extent of the terrible cloud surrounding Night Vale, coming down upon it like a great hand. He started down the slowly curving road that lead back into the town, hoping that his memory of the route would serve him well, unable to see where the road ended and anything else began. He could not swallow down his nerves, nor his vertigo. He saw the homes of Old Town, thankfully lit up in the middle distance and set the car to hopefully arrive between them. In their panic, they really had gone to the edges of Night Vale. He knew that the only true way out was on the road up passed Old Woman Josie’s House (if it really could be called a way out) but he mused about what might happen if they had continued to drive. They would probably have hit the foot of one of the mountains Cecil and the rest of Night Vale refused to acknowledge, or a tree, or they would be caught by the beings that they had been fleeing. He spent a few moments to consider what it would be like to take Cecil somewhere safe. He spent a few more moments mourning that impossible life. 

He gave Cecil one last glance, just in time to witness the other man’s slow, semi-conscious fall to the left. Carlos prepared to take one hand off the steering wheel when- 

The car slammed into something pale coloured, a flash of something like wet animal fur on the windscreen, thrown away into the night by the force of the vehicle, leaving behind a thick spider web of cracked glass. That same force winded Carlos and threw his neck painfully forward and back again as they came to a screeching stop that cut the engine. In the corner of his vision, Cecil was ragdoll like in the same moment, the plaything of some terrible giant child. He was straining forward and to the left now, to the limit of the seatbelt, growning. Carlos’ first reaction was to tend to him, he snapped into action immediately, adrenaline doing what it was supposed to. 

‘Shit!’ he said, unclicking his seatbelt and his hands bringing his boyfriend upright immediately and checking his face in the weird light for signs of consciousness. Cecil’s pupils fixed on him, a confused, sleepy expression played across his features ‘Are you okay?! I’m sorry, I didn’t see it coming, I-’

‘-I think you hit a deer,’ he said surprisingly soberly, wincing as he shifted in his seat over the sound of the rain hitting the car. 

‘A deer?!’ Carlos said frantically, checking him over and watching the darkness ahead of them in panicked turns. 

‘I’m pretty sure,’ he said, rubbing his neck. He observed Carlos for a few moments before saying very clearly ‘Carlos. I’m alright. I wasn’t hurt… I’m not sure about that deer though.’ 

‘I should have been more careful, though,’ the scientist agonised, frowning and pulling away from Cecil, some of his distress replaced by guilt and apology ‘Um… I should probably go out there.’ 

‘Don’t,’ Cecil warned very seriously ‘I know you want to, but please don’t.’ 

‘I can’t just leave a poor-’

‘I know, I know you can’t, boo, but stay here, _please_ ,’ Cecil implored him, suddenly anxious ‘I have a bad feeling about this. I’d rather we back up and get away. That deer was probably sick of carrying around that real estate agent anyway.’

Carlos was just then craning to see if he could spot the creature when he spied a human form, attempting to rise by clutching onto the hood of the car, but it faltered and fell back out of sight ‘Cece! Cece! That’s a person. It’s a person!’ he turned the engine back on and the lights came back to life.

‘Carlos, don’t,’ Cecil said clutching air ineffectually as Carlos jumped out of the car and into the cold, whipping air with little hesitation, the light on the back of his broken phone moving, searchlight-like, as he went.

Carlos closed the door behind him, not meaning to ignore his boyfriend’s pleas, but unable to ignore the possibility of his having hurt another living creature, human or otherwise. Carlos could still hear Cecil calling his name inside. His gut was telling him he really should take his advice but…

On the ground in front of the car there was…

He cast the light around. 

 

Nothing. 

 

Nothing but a dent in the front bumper and water spilling off the car and into the almost invisible puddles and rivulets in the road. Their presence confirmed only by the strange refraction and distortion of the starry darkness below him. 

Carlos checked around him, turning on the spot, confused, dread and bile rising with his heartrate. He was suddenly aware of the slanting, driving rain, the scene above him seemed to come to life under observation, showing perhaps, awareness, intent. They were still outside of Old Town, the pinpricks of light that represented Night Vale laid out below like those tiny holes in a blanket you only see when someone is reading a book by torchlight underneath. 

He began to edge back toward the car, afraid, seeing, vaguely, Cecil’s face behind the cracks in the glass, wide eyed. But he wasn’t looking at Carlos. The scientist froze. Then he forced himself to turn around. 

Standing in the middle of the road was a figure. 

Carlos cast his light over shakily and the figure raised a hand to shield their eyes. But when Carlos followed that hand they shaded not human eyes, but the eyes of a deer. Huntocar stood very still then, dark eyes fixed on him, shining in the light, the breath from her nostrils visible and curling away in regular, if not too fast, puffs. Her silhouette was beyond the beam of the headlights, barely visible in the darkness, but clearly inhuman from the head up. Her body however, seemed to be bare, what little light there was falling upon exposed breasts. Carlos backed away, intending to get into the car and to drive in whatever direction he could, around, back, through, he didn’t care. 

Then, his back hit something. 

He jumped, the back of his legs hitting the side of the car, just above the front wheel. He reeled, seeing now, a darkly clothed woman with a crimson smile under a black, wide brimmed hat. She looked altogether funerary but for those red lips. She swayed toward him, her hips moving as her smile grew wider, the corners disappearing under that hat as she tipped her head toward him, rain dripping from the brim. She approached the paralysed scientist until she was almost against him, she smelled like dark roast coffee and expensive rose perfume. A quick glance confirmed that the woman with the deer head was still rooted to the spot, but watching, the whites of her eyes now visible, her head reared back slightly like an afraid animal. The Woman from Italy made a pleased noise and Carlos felt something slip to the back of his ankle. With the back of her heal, she kicked his leg out from underneath him, Carlos tried to throw himself against the hood of the car but slipped and fell to his backside against the wheel of the car with a cry and a splash, his phone landing away from him, face down, the light casting upward. She stood over him, so close now that her hat shielded him from the rain. She looked down, he looked up, pressing himself against the car, chest rising and falling, heart in his ears. He could hear Cecil’s muffled voice shouting his name, he could hear banging. When the driver’s door opened the woman from Italy slammed it shut again with startling speed, returning to her original position before Carlos realised what was happening. He could hear more banging; his name being called more frantically. She bent slightly at the knees, her dress shifting. A feminine hand came forward, the nails painted that same red. Her fingers combed through Carlos’ already wet hair. Carlos could barely breathe, his exhalations shaky, his inhalations short and clipped. He was oddly aware of the wet and dirt soaking into his jeans and the rectangle of gauze on his hand. He was reminded of the last two nights, the first, running to catch a limo in the rain, the second, running from a malevolent force. If his death wasn’t imminent, he would worry about catching a cold. He heard a car door open, but nothing happened. Cecil did not come to his rescue.  
The Woman from Italy’s hand slid around the back of his head and tugged his hair sharply so that he was forced to look directly up at the tiny patch of the doubling, uncurling and boiling cloud structure beyond the curve of her hat. A few fat, stray drops of water fell into his eyes. A knife, as small of a letter opener, pressed up against this neck and began to graze the skin there. Now it was his turn to show the whites of his eyes. Carlos realised, taking in the signals his now heightened sense of touch was sending him, that this was the knife the Faceless Old Woman had taken from their home.

He felt the edge of the knife break the skin slowly. 

‘Stop,’ said a female voice. 

Carlos could see the cheek of the woman above him twitch. An unseen eyebrow raised. 

She took the knife from his throat and stood up.

Carlos saw the naked deer headed woman, rain dripping off her skin in the headlights. There was already bruising around her middle. 

‘Let the lesser beings do their work, we’ve already done enough.’ 

The Woman from Italy smirked, shook her head slowly and deliberately, tipping her head, but she said nothing. 

‘Not this place,’ the deer headed woman said, glowering ‘ _This_ is not your playground.’ 

The Woman from Italy took one step back, but she was still too close for Carlos to risk escape. 

He watched the body language of the naked woman falter, her ears twitch ‘I cannot account for the actions of the angels.’ 

There was a strange edge to her voice, as human as it sounded, and Carlos realised why, Cecil was repeating her words as she spoke them, somewhere on the other side of the car. 

Huntokar breathed ‘We must see. Leave this place.’ 

The dark clad woman left Carlos after a moment, the smile on her face not faulting. She walked away in that swaying way, but turned her head when she was only a few paces away, the click of her heals on the void swallowed ground stopping. Her hat was tipped so that it almost brushed her shoulder. 

Huntokar seemed to listen. 

‘If _he_ must be harmed,’ she answered slowly ‘then so be it, but I do not want you to have a hand in it.’

With that, the Woman from Italy looked ahead once more and walked until she was swallowed by the darkness. Her heals could be heard over the sound of the rain and thunder for some time after she was no longer visible. 

A hand appeared before Carlos. He shook the sense of déjà vu and took it. When he was on his feet, however, Huntocar was gone. He looked around him. Nothing. His stomach felt empty. He shivered. He picked up his phone and walked around the car. Inside, Cecil was speaking rhythmically, not seeing him. The passenger door was open. He looked down at the thing lying at the foot of the car, just in the beam of the headlights. A doe, it’s neck at an angle, strange in the void. When Carlos looked, her eyes were open and there was no light behind them. He swallowed and in the rain, he took her by the back legs, smelling animal smell, and started the slow work of dragging her heavy, inanimate form off the road. He winced at the way her neck lolled as he moved her. He winced again at the pain the strain of the act caused him. 

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said to her sadly, standing above her when he decided she was sufficiently far away, taking a moment of silence, in respect and confusion. He shed a few tears for her, at her tiny vigil and funeral and the non-burial that was probably to come at the hands (paws, teeth, beaks) of other wild animals. 

He shed a few fearful tears for himself too. He hoped she didn't mind.

Then he turned back and made toward the car.


	12. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drive to the radio station.
> 
> It's Carlos' turn for an existential crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI 
> 
> I'm back. I hope you'll forgive me, looking at a screen is the last thing I want to do at the moment given that I'm working in a stuffy former lab (now a far less exciting office!) in front of a computer all day :P! 
> 
> I feel like I'm basically working for Strexcorp. Oh the joys! Need some non-corporate weirdness. Great to get back into this!
> 
> I intend to have all of this finished very very soon so expect another chapter in a few days <3! 
> 
> It's gonna get a bit messed up folks :P Any of you lovely people who've stuck with me through all of this, I'd love to hear from you! 
> 
> <3 Peace

The car was a strange, foreign environment after the events outside, it was as though it had been a very long time since he had sat in this seat next to Cecil. It was like the way your home felt after a long absence, like there was too much space or too little, like the walls you knew had been replaced by a very close but inexact replica. There was little relief, however, he didn’t trust that the vehicle would offer them any safety from the things chasing them or the advancing nothing that would soon be upon them.   
Cecil. He was beside him, unconscious and unaware, hanging forward and to one side at the limit of his seatbelt and whispering almost too constantly to take a breath. Carlos shivered. Carlos’ became aware of his hands, they smelled like wet animal and blood and his bandage was soiled. He doubted Cecil would appreciate the gesture if he were to move him right now. Just beyond him, however he spied an unlabelled plastic water bottle in the door compartment. He looked up at the empty non-road before them briefly, seeing no more gods or animals. He reached for the bottle painfully, passed the concave curve of Cecil’s forward slumping body, swearing he could feel heat radiating off the other man. After studying his boyfriend’s shadowed features in the car light for a moment he set about peeling off the wet, dirty, soggy and intermittently stuck bandage. He barely looked as he worked, hissing with the pain and thought of infection. He wound down the window further, held his hand out of the window, took off the sports cap off with his teeth and squirted the liquid over his angry stitches. 

His eyes bulged wide and he cried at a sudden, wholly unexpected sting. He took his hand back violently, spilling a portion of the liquid outside the car, inside the car and upon himself, a familiar and sickly smell immediately about him. He whimpered loudly, all but throwing the bottle at his feet, and clutching his hand until it dulled to a pulse. The feeling was as sharp as though his hand were being poked with needles. He threw his back into the seat, upset, his heart sinking. It wasn’t water in the bottle, but vodka, he had realised all too quickly. Although it might clean his wound far more effectively than water, he was deeply saddened to find it in an inconspicuous water bottle in Cecil’s _car_ , no less. He set his mouth bitterly after a while and bent to pick it up, not much had spilled by grace of the design of it. He brought it to his eye level. He swirled the bottle until a tiny whirlpool formed and held it steady until he could see a meniscus. He tipped the bottle gently this way and that, watching the clear liquid behave just like liquid should, always staying level, parallel to the surface it sits upon, meaning relatively, always flat. Carlos could feel something angry build up inside him, he visualised it like a black tar rising in him, always staying flat. After begrudgingly using some of it to clean his hands more thoroughly, he undid the top and poured it out the window. He watched the stream of liquid disappear at the point where the ground should be, now void, vanished. His heart tripped. It was a terrible, beautiful magic, an unsettling reality bending magic trick. 

His mind flared with questions briefly, like a bulb just before it blows, about matter, or light bouncing off surfaces, or if there was a compound that could affect brain chemistry to the point where a whole populace could experience intense, total sensory hallucinations. Or whether it was just him, still in the Desert Other World, dying alone and on his back in desert heat, his eyes burned and his brain cooking. But these thoughts were snuffed out just as fast as they arose. This was something beyond him and it was real, Carlos knew.  
The scientist threw the empty bottle into the back of the car. If he survived, he’d recycle it later.

He needed to make Cecil promise that no matter what happened, he would not destroy himself like this again. That his boyfriend would harm himself, especially in response to _being_ harmed, was disturbing to Carlos. He wanted better circumstances. Hell, he wanted any other circumstance. He wanted to a set of circumstances that would allow him to be a part of his recovery, to by his side and to help him heal. But he probably wouldn’t, not now. Carlos wanted to get angry, he wanted to feel it all, but the tar rose up and fell ineffectually, only a useless heaviness in chest now. He gritted his teeth. 

_Is this the day I die?_

Carlos turned around and fished on the floor of the back seats, finding a much larger, unopened bottle. This time it really was water. He hefted it up and drank from it. He looked at Cecil. He would probably choke if he tried to give him water now. Carlos resealed it and put it back where he found it. He gritted his teeth and went to ease his still strangely hanging boyfriend back into his seat. 

‘Close to the fulcrum, reaching every one of him, a united end,’ Cecil said suddenly, frightening Carlos enough to make him flail. His voice was straining as though another was trying to escape from it, undulating unevenly, the words having disturbing, inhuman edges to them. The word “end” was a powerful decisive boom, the void or whatever was doing this making full use of the Voice of Night Vale. 

All of this was too much. Too much for him, and certainly too much for Cecil. It was too much.

Too much. 

Too much! 

_Too much!!_

TOO 

MUCH

‘What is this!? _Why!?_ ’ Carlos implored, breaking, tearing at his hair, shouting at the top of voice immediately until it cracked painfully. He hit himself repeatedly with the flat of his palms, screaming. He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel enough to cause a bursting pain through his injury, his body protesting the painful injustice almost as much as his very being was sickened by what was happening to he and Cecil. He raised those pained, shaky hands to his mouth and allowed himself to muffle his screams into them until he had no air left in his lungs and he produced only forced air. 

On his eventual inhalation, tears slipped from his eyes and his sense came back. He relished each slightly freer breath, some measure of the tension having left him, he laughed unhinged laughs on his inhalations. He calmed in degrees. The air seemed lighter now but his spirit felt darker, slicked black. 

He rolled the window back up, wondering why a hooded figure or something else had not decided to take his pity-party as an opportunity to attack them. 

He started the engine. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and an involuntary chuckle. 

He looked at Cecil, he had not been disturbed by Carlos’ loud, manic outburst. His eyelashes only played over the quivering whites of his eyes, casting strange shadows like running mascara by the yellow toned, overhead light in the car. He finally moved him back in place, rearranging a dead weight proving highly difficult. He squeezed his hand when he was done and Cecil did not squeeze back. 

He drove, feeling oddly giddy. He was unsure if the sounds escaping him as though from a creature inside is lungs were laughs or sobs. 

He passed the houses of Old Town, on the lookout for the usual predatory cats and anything else that might step into their path between the driving rain streaming off the windscreen. He entered Night Vale proper, taking little notice of the desolation that the storm had caused and the hellish view above it. As he passed parked cars and shut businesses, alarms were blearing, triggered by the wind and the debris it carried. There were no people walking the roads. Carlos could barely tell where they were in the blackness, following only blessed muscle memory after they passed Big Rico’s.

He had made that drive to the station so many times, with the day on his shoulders but with a smile of anticipation on his face and butterflies in his stomach. Later, that drive had turned to warmth, it had turned to happy routine, for a while. And then, just before his year in the Desert Otherworld, he had wondered whether he had been reduced to the status of love interest. He had wondered whether Cecil was the protagonist in a strange fiction and that Carlos was a second-rate character, lacking real independence and depth, only existing as an extension of his boyfriend. After a few days in the Desert Otherworld, he realised that he had let himself and his passions slip from him to make room for _them_ , for Carlos&Cecil, while his _me_ or _I_ took a back seat. 

He thought that maybe Night Vale was out to destroy his sense of self, and then destroy him entirely. Maybe this was all happening because he separated himself again, because he pursued his passions and removed himself from the limits of that word that had come to define him, “boyfriend,” or fought the effacing quality that Night Vale had seemed to have on him. As an individual, maybe he presented a threat to some plot, some story, in which the focus was on Night Vale and its people. Maybe when, in the early days, when the citizens had pointed at him and called him an interloper loudly and ridiculously in the street, they had been on to something. 

The broken man in the car seat beside him mumbled out what Carlos recognised as his name and Carlos’ train of thought came to a halt. God, even if he might have felt lost, Cecil, gentle Cecil, would never mean to take anything away from him. Cecil himself wasn’t even sure who he was. He wasn’t sure of his past. He wasn’t even sure of his humanity. Without Carlos, Cecil even descended into a highly self-destructive spiral, one that might have even had the potential to kill him, with one drink too many or a swig or three of that bottle during a late-night drive to their empty home. The scientist tried to check in the rear-view mirror, without taking his eyes away from the nothing that now made up the road, but the mirror was blackened out with what looked to be Sharpie (Carlos would try to tell Cecil just how dangerous that was when the time was right, _if_ the time was ever right).

Yes, Carlos may have lost himself for a while, but Cecil was, is, much the same. Couldn’t this narrative be about how two people could be lost together? Or about mutual growth? Or how “scientist”, “radio host” or “boyfriend”, even as they question who they are and what their purpose is, don’t represent limitations but are expandatory of their personal, inner lives as well as their shared one? 

Even Night Vale's gods had something to say about it.

Couldn’t the universe just let them be?

Couldn’t they just _be_?

 

And then, they were in front of the radio station.


	13. Fluorescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody, it's Mighty! Happy October!! This one will be a bit short but just wait. I've finally hit the body of work I did months ago. I've worked really hard on it and I hope you're as excited about it as I am. 
> 
> You are all amazing peeps <3 
> 
> ALSO. I went to All Hail in Dublin!!! AhHH it was sooo good!! I got a poster and a tote bag to add to my Literal Swarm of Bees poster and my NVCR mug. Cecil looked right at me, I like to think he was impressed by my eyeshadow game ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He couldn’t rid himself of this feeling, like someone had took a hold of his heart, tied to weight to it and thrown it into a freezing, dark lake. He could see it in Cecil’s eyes too." 
> 
> Carlos carries Cecil into the radio station. 
> 
> Intern Karen throws same major shade (I'm not one to put OCs in my fics but not even Maureen could throw that much shade so an OC it was!)
> 
> Khoshekh is happy daddy is home. 
> 
> Note: I take a few liberties here with the radio station. In my experience, all radio stations have glass doors and windows leading into a foyer or hallway (Like Dublin's 98FM, which is in the aptly named Marconi House).

Carlos stopped the car and pulled up the break. He thought for a moment, reached back and transferred the water bottle from the back of the car to Cecil’s lap. He held the keys in his bad hand and pocketed his phone, he left the car (taking a moment to convince himself that the ground around the car was there at all) and unbuckled Cecil on his side, lifting him out with startling ease, despite the fact he was a dead weight. He kicked the doors closed and locked the car with a click of the key, carrying his boyfriend toward the door of the station. Not thirty seconds outside, the two were already soaked with the hard, whipping rain that had hit him so suddenly he was sure that the wind direction had changed as soon as he had re-entered the black expanse that used to be the cooling evening air over Night Vale. It hit Carlos’ cheek and his exposed hands as sharply as though gravel had been thrown at them. Cecil, unconsciously or consciously, moved his hand around to grip Carlos’ shoulder, an action which did not interrupt his endless whispering. Carlos hunched around him awkwardly, shielding him to the best of his ability from the rain, feeling how it pummelled him back with alarming velocity. Night Vale was blurry in the rain now, or was it that it was fading into the void? The buildings that had once seemed so close were now only visible as uncertain shimmers, where lights were still on. He reached the door, blessing the vaguely blinking florescent light that seeped through the glass and into the now visibly shaking air, like it was filled with escaped gas. He was unsure of how to proceed until he saw who he imagined to be Intern Karen inside. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed him. He made a vague gesture in askance as he felt Cecil’s weight begin to strain him. She looked at him. He nodded encouragingly at her and the door, trying to keep the edge of desperation out his expression. She rolled her eyes and shuffled toward the door slowly, opening it with no urgency at all. He entered, immediately relieved to be out of the rain. He was soaked to the skin and shaking. Being very careful with Cecil’s head, as soon as the door was open wide enough. 

‘Thank you,’ he said, also trying to keep the edge of frustration out his voice as he found the first clear space to prop up the radio host. He put him down but he was unable to avoid putting weight directly on his stitches. He groaned through the pain as the water bottle that had been on Cecil’s lap rolled away from them. Karen stopped it beneath her foot. Cecil was quiet now, but not awake just yet. He waited for her to give it back. She did not. 

‘Um,’ Carlos began, still kneeling next to Cecil, exacerbated ‘Do you think, what with the situation and all, and y’know, because you’re a helpful person, being an intern, that is, that I can have that water back?’ 

‘Fine,’ she said, kicking it back so it hit Carlos’ calf ‘Just be careful it’s not vodka.’ 

Carlos shot her the most pissed look he could muster. 

She shrugged it off ‘Show’s in twenty minutes, or whatever, you know, time and stuff,’ she reminded him nonchalantly as she walked through a pair of double doors, leaving them alone. 

Carlos put aside the intern’s attitude and gave all of his attention to Cecil. He was panting now like he was catching his breath. Given how he had been talking almost without pause since the incident on the road, this was not surprising. His brow was knitted in distress but his third eye had vanished from his forehead. Carlos couldn’t help it. He kissed that spot and whispered to him gently that he was at the Radio Station. He sat on his calves before him and cradled his feverish head in his hands, easing him awake with the caressing of his thumbs and little words of encouragement. When Cecil’s eyelashes began to flutter, he caught sight of Carlos and immediately closed them again, sighing into his boyfriend’s good hand. 

‘You’re okay,’ was the first thing he said, clearly reassured that Carlos was still breathing. 

‘You’re okay,’ Carlos echoed, moving against the wall too so Cecil could rest his head on his shoulder. He passed him the water, Cecil drank big gulps when he wasn’t speaking. Carlos caught him sniffing the water before drinking it. 

‘What happened?’ he asked quietly, he tapped the centre of his forehead twice with his free hand, much as Old Woman Josie had a few nights earlier as he nestled in ‘I could probably find out myself but I want to give it a rest before the start of the show.’

‘That’s a good question,’ Carlos started reluctantly, finding the other man’s hand, and squeezing it. He spoke slowly, his words felt strange in his mouth ‘Well, it seemed that we had, or rather it would be more accurate to say _I_ hit a woman… but eh, s-she had a deer head… She was standing there when I found nothing on the road, I’m not sure if you remember that part… So eh, she did nothing for a while. Then the Woman from Italy, you know who I mean, sort of _appeared_ and um, she had our cheese knife, you know, the one from that set we won at Janice’s raffle for tarantula literacy? The Faceless Old Woman had it earlier today, I don’t want to know how she got a hold of it, if those two are friends I think I’d finally go mad… and… the deer lady stopped her, she said that Night Vale wasn’t her playground, or something like that? There was a kind of emphasis there I didn’t understand, and you know I dislike not understanding things. Maybe you can make more sense of it later, that is, if you want. But when it was all over, she just vanished… and there was an actual deer left behind. It was dead, Cecil… I moved it off the road… Cece, I’m really unsettled by this.’ 

‘What kind of emphasis?’ Cecil asked, his tone straight out of a detective movie, his tone surprising Carlos given the state he had been in just a moment ago.   
‘Oh um, like “ _This_ is not your playground”, like that,’ he said, offering some of acting skills. 

‘It sounds like she _has_ a playground, or they all do,’ Cecil considered ‘Whatever that means.’

‘Even as a scientist, I’m not sure if I want to know.’ 

‘As a radio host, I’m not sure if I do either,’ he was silent for a while ‘Is the woman with the deer head on our side?’ 

Carlos thought ‘I’m not sure. She seemed to act kindly toward me. But she asked the Woman from Italy to let “the lesser beings” do their “work.” So, she’s a bystander maybe? Or maybe she has more of a hand in it… Cece, can we make sure you’re all set for the broadcast before we talk about it anymore? While I can say with what I’m going to objectively call certainty that you aren’t well enough to be at work in the slightest, I’ll help you because, if you really have to do the broadcast, I won’t allow you to go in without having your antibiotic or at least trying to eat something.’

Cecil was quiet for a moment. They could hear the lights buzzing and the wind outside ‘Okay,’ he said eventually. 

‘Okay,’ Carlos echoed, trying to figure out how they were going to get to their feet.

 

‘Look who’s home Khoshekh!’ Cecil sang with more enthusiasm Carlos himself could possibility be capable of in a time like this, and more than he expected his boyfriend too.

Carlos followed close behind his boyfriend into the men’s bathroom to see the familiar covered mirrors and its floating resident, ‘Hello boy… Missed me?’ 

The creature perked up, showing clear surprise, the resulting yowl made Carlos’ eardrums vibrate uncomfortably. Cecil, however was unfazed and stood by watching the scene clutching his hands together and to his chest, enamoured. Carlos was used to getting the cold shoulder from cats, though given his allergies he often had to give them similar treatment. His heart fluttered sadly at the sweet, though mildly terrifying greeting. Animals never really understand why people disappear from their lives. Their excitement at being united with these people was telling of that. He had no doubt that Khoshekh had indeed missed him. 

Cecil was bravely stroking the now one-eyed cat on the relatively safe spot between his ears. When he spoke, his voice was suddenly sad and grateful, ‘He’s been very good company this past year, even if he doesn’t like it when I sing… Just, you know, to warm up my voice.’ 

‘What does he do when you sing?’ 

‘Oh, he releases venomous spikes in all directions and hisses until I stop.’ 

‘I won’t ask what his hissing sounds like,’ Carlos laughed nervously ‘His meows are enough for me… Cecil. Can’t I just… sit in the background somewhere when you’re broadcasting? I won’t cause any trouble. I’ll read a book or- or wait, not that… This is Night Vale. I’ll just, sit quietly.’ 

‘I wish you could come too. Station Management haven’t been too pleased with me recently and, I want to get back on track. Maybe you could go out to Josie’s house now, like you said,’ he sighed nervously ‘You said, the Definitely-Not-Angels-Because-Angels-Don’t-Exist seem to know something about what’s going on.’

‘And then I’ll go to City Council and see about citizenship papers or something? Maybe it will help’ Carlos added. 

‘They don’t have papers, Carlos,’ Cecil corrected ‘They’re ancient stone tablets. And maybe that would help.’ 

‘Oh okay, those then.’ 

‘How are your chiselling skills?’ Cecil asked. 

‘Ummm…’

‘You know, there’s a chance City Council will attack you,’ he added ‘I mean, they may have in it for you given the whole, you know.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Carlos said sadly ‘I know.’ 

‘Actually,’ Cecil corrected ‘They attack just about anyone who goes near their chambers.’

‘Good… t-t-tooo… KNOW!’ Carlos sneezed, having lost the fight with the allergy induced tickle in his nose.

‘That’s just how they roll,’ the other said, unfazed. 

‘I’ve noticed,’ Carlos sniffed, mirroring his tone. 

‘I missed this,’ Cecil said after a pause, taking his hand off Khoshekh. 

‘Me too, Cece.’ 

Cecil seemed to be toying with something ‘Okay,’ he relented ‘Go visit Josie. But come back. I’ll ask intern Karen to make you a coffee or something. I’m scared that something will happen to you, and I’ll be useless and powerless to stop it in my booth. I’ve been in that situation a few too many times. _Far_ too many times since I’ve known you, my beautiful Carlos. I need you to be safe.’ 

Carlos sighed, ‘Somehow, a whole army of tiny people under a bowling alley seems a lot more manageable now, you know, compared to this anyway.’ 

‘I know Carlos,’ 

The saddest nostalgia he ever remembered experiencing gripped him, guilt and confusion making up its edges. He supposed this was a kind of impending grief, both of them sick with the dread of the coming heart-ache and loss. It wasn’t in Carlos’ nature to be pessimistic, but maybe it was something about the nature of this fallen sky. He couldn’t rid himself of this feeling, like someone had took a hold of his heart, tied to weight to it and thrown it into a freezing, dark lake. He could see it in Cecil’s eyes too. 

In the meantime, the radio host had secreted a toothbrush out of somewhere. Carlos approached him and hugged him carefully from behind in silence. He was there long enough to hear Cecil’s heart over the sound of brushing, the low motor-like purr from Khoshekh and the same fluorescent buzz he noticed earlier, when he pressed his ear to his back. 

 

What do you say to someone when it could very well be the last time you see them?


	14. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Comment.

Carlos’ lone journey back to Cecil’s car was a highly difficult one. Every step he took away from Cecil’s booth was an exercise in bravery. Once he went outside though, it was like walking the plank, only with some existential dread thrown in. He was incredibly unsure of his footing now. He knew from countless movies with the rickety-bridge cliché that he wasn’t supposed to look down but the sight below him, in all of its vastness warranted his attention, even more so perhaps that the hellscape above him. It made him want to find solid ground and never move again. Desperate and soaked, the scientist threw himself into the car when he reached it, his shaky legs all but springing away from the blackness. He immediately shut the door and panted into the steering wheel to gather himself.

Maybe he should go back.

Maybe it was a bad idea to split up, another thing he learned from television. But so far, gallivanting around Night Vale with Cecil in tow had just put him in harm’s way. He needed to speak to Erika, and soon, and that meant leaving Cecil in the safety of the radio station. Carlos breathed and turned on the engine. Before reversing out of what he hoped had been a parking space, he turned on the radio. The broadcast came through with far more static than normal. He caught his boyfriend mid-sentence and wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

_‘-how sporting events can avoid such catastrophes in the future. As they began what was to be a long night of cleaning every square inch of the playing field, now void, with toothbrushes and Cif, the board members commented “no comment,” over and over again, until the words became meaningless and strange, and not a little garbled. Chin up folks, there’s always next year! More on this later._

_‘Moving on to more pressing issues, Night Vale still looks as though that it has been ripped from the Earth and is now floating in the vastness of space. The City Council has issued a weather warning for the foreseeable future. The warning itself is a single piece of paper that was put through the station letterbox this morning with the word “DEATH” written in Charcoal, under “Weather warning from your City Council,” double colon. Intern tells me through a series of half-hearted gestures that we have a caller with something to say about what’s been going on in our little town. Hello caller,’_

_‘Yeah so, this is Big Rico,’_

At this Carlos’ heart started to jump again, but for a wholly different reason to fear of the void. He had been about to turn up the road that lead out of town and toward Josie’s house, but this made him stop and lean in to the radio as though he could somehow lend his boyfriend support.

_‘-and I just want to say I got a real problem with your drunk ass, buddy. If there’s anyone in this town who still likes ya after the way you’ve been behaving - cryin’ over the radio about your stu’pid scientist and stumblin’ around shit faced all the time, let this be a wakeup call to them. You’ve been drunk and disruptive to my business too many times now, chuckin’ up everywhere and damaging my property.’_

_‘Eh… I…’_ Cecil stumbled, sounded for all the world as though he had been cornered. 

_‘We all have God damn problems, ya know? But you air it all out. Not only that, but you literally put it all out on the air! I’m sure I’m speakin’ for a lot of us when I say we’re sick of your bullshit. I even spoke to your intern before she connected me and she tells me you’ve been drinking on the floor of the men’s restroom before the show and singing to that half-a-floating cat you got in there. Pathetic. You’ll pay for the damage to my joint and after that you’re _banned_ , I don’t care if it’s compulsory, I’ll let you deal with the repercussions.’_

There was silence over the radio for a moment, followed by the sound of Cecil swallowing, _‘Just for future reference, Karen,’_ Cecil said testily, more quietly as though it wasn’t really intended for the audience, the fact he was overwhelmed could be heard very clearly in his voice _‘When I draw my finger across my throat like this… it means cut the call.’_

 _‘Listeners,’_ Cecil said, a frank and defeated tone ringing out across the radios of Night Vale _‘I…. I messed up. I want to thank you for being loyal to me, for… Listening to me rattle on for all these years… However long that may have been… For allowing me to talk to you sweetly before we all turn in and pretend to sleep. I want to apologise to all of you, and anyone else, for the lapses in my behaviour on air or otherwise. I have… taken advantage of your good natures and your hospitality. I would like to apologise, from the heart, for the way I’ve acted. I’m… I’m going cold turkey. Whatever happens, I will try not to let my vices take over. I may lead a very public life here on Night Vale Community Radio, but I can’t say it makes such the public admission of my failures any easier. A promise might even be harder. But, I will try, despite my turbulent inner world and the turbulent outer world, to be sober, for all of you wonderful listeners. I am sorry, for the grief I have caused… I’m sorry… Two things I will add though, Carlos is literally the opposite of stupid and NOBODY insults my cat.’_

Then Cecil, continued, very professionally, with an update on the weekly calendar _‘…as stated before, Tuesday is void, Wednesday is void…’_

Having continued down the road, Carlos sent Cecil a text at a traffic light: “I’m sorry boo, that was horrible. Can’t believe Karen would do that. You’re so brave. I’m very very proud of you. After we figure all this out, we’ll make it right, I promise."

While still talking on the radio, Cecil sent a text back. It was simply the crying emoji and the heart emoji. 

Carlos sent two people hugging and another heart back to him.

Then, he thought for a moment and sent one more, very careful to watch for the changing light over the watery view the windscreen afforded him “I love you.” He listened for the exact moment Cecil received that text and was sure he heard a funny emphasis on a word.

_‘… the fallen sky has been causing major disruptions to services and has contributed to a general feeling,’_ at this, Carlos smiled _‘of terror and unease across Night Vale. Road workers have complained that they can no longer accurately mark the roads:  
“We’ve been painting all the usual things like lines and the word “STOP” in what we think are the right places,” said one worker with the usual, ten-foot paint brush in her hands “But honestly, we don’t know if we’re getting it right!” and then she added “I even painted some of my personal renditions of Gauguin’s Tahitian women as a social commentary piece on exoticism in modern times, but I’m still not sure how they turned out. I’m just trying to do my job. It’s highly frustrating.”_

_‘We’ve heard from John Peters again, you know, the farmer? He says that he has given up on using his bloodstones, not only because we are now experiencing the same phenomena he first called in about last night all over Night Vale, but because he has also lost a considerable amount of blood. He says that when he walks through what used to be his field he can still feel the crops brushing against him, like always, though this time he cannot see them. He says that he can’t see his imaginary corn, like always, but he can still imagine that it is there. Bravely, he tried to eat some of his imaginary corn, now imaginary void corn, and he informed us that he imagined that it tasted just the same as he always imagined it tasted. Peters believes he will be able to go ahead with the harvest this year but advises we keep any of his produce in our refrigerators to ensure these edible pieces of endless darkness stay fresh. And this actually brings us quite neatly to the new statement issued by City Council legislation changes. New law states that the following should now be refrigerated at all times…. It says “at all times” but surely that’s incorrect. I imagine it to be “at all times except when in use” but regardless, here’s the list: “All red things. All red things may include red meats; red fruits; food items which come in predominantly red packaging; blood and those, you know redder organs; any red books that you may own,” and here City Council has added “you should not own any red books, all red books are banned, why do you have a red book? Shame on you. SHAME.” …And the list continues with: “Red flowers such as roses or carnations; red accessories such as hair scrunchies and handbags; predominately red lipsticks and your boyfriend’s second favourite red plaid shirt because he shouldn’t be needing… it… any…more.” Uummmm….’_

Cecil paused here, flipping through paper. He made a short, clipped breath and resumed. 

_‘Aaaand red liquorish, you know the kind. So, be sure to follow these new guidelines closely, except for that second last one which was… an error.’_

Cecil cut to a pre-recorded and highly passive-aggressive commercial for shaving foam. Carlos swallowed, he turned, again being very careful due to the lack of a visible road markings, or indeed, lack of visible road. He tried to keep most of his concentration on driving, fearing that something or someone would step into the tiny, ineffectual circle of light the headlights threw into the void, now turbulent in the rainy gale. Or worse, that they would approach him from outside of it. He needed to keep moving. He hoped Cecil had stop sign immunity on his car. He hoped that talking to Erika might lend a bit more hope to this situation. Erika knew something about the something Carlos was disrupting. Carlos shook his head and thought about just how little he knew. Was Erika purposefully withholding information or was this cryptic-ness a you-need-to-figure-it-out-by-yourself cliché?

The advertisement ended on an ominous tone. Cecil was back. He cleared his throat and Carlos knew instinctively, it was happening, Cecil was trying to glean more information about their predicament. His voice was deeper and steadier than it had been before _‘The sky has fallen. The sky has fallen because we are nearing a state of collapse, a thinning of our iterations, a destruction, or perhaps, a remaking. There is an order to things, however chaotic, and all iterations of this place must proceed in that chaotic order. It is a state of perpetual loss and in that state, there can be no disruption, for in uncertainty the perpetual may become final. Do not acknowledge the beings that call themselves “angels” for they only wish for finality.’_

Carlos tried to process this information. All of this circulated around the destruction of Night Vale in 1983. The need to rid itself of Carlos came not from some need for an arbitrary balance in the wider universe but the maintenance of a process which perpetuated the existence of this doomed desert community. His blood turned to lead. Did he have no choice in the matter? And if he did, did he have the right? 

_’My boyfriend, Carlos the Scientist is listening to this broadcast, I’m sure. I think we can all agree that Carlos has become a very respected and prominent member of our little community. Remind yourselves of any of the times Carlos has helped us. Think of his heroism during the Strexcorp takeover last year. A heroism that caused him to become trapped in a mysterious Desert Otherworld for a year. Now if any of this “fallen sky” stuff were to pertain to him in any way, we would defend him as one of our own, riiiight Night Vale? Because Carlos_ is _one of our own. Don’t let there be any doubt about that. Carlos is a citizen of Night Vale and should be treated as such.’_

_‘Speaking of last year’s takeover, Tamika Flynn, local celebrity, slayer of librarians and leader of the Secret Militia for Advanced Readers has voiced her opinion on the ongoing ban on writing utensils, she claimed that municipally approve-’_

Cecil stopped as though he was interrupted by something. He resumed.

_‘…Municipally approved… approved…” he stopped, changing tone “Listeners, something is happening in the breakroom. Intern Karen! Intern Karen? I think something’s happening to Intern Karen, I heard her shout. I’m just going to open the door to my booth and check if everything’s okay.’_

There was some shuffling and then the sudden sound of a female scream, followed by a pleading, terrified, blood chilling ‘No no no no…NO-NO-NOOO!!’

‘Karen!? Karen!?’

THUMP 

Cecil gasped, the sound of his chair being pushed away told Carlos he had stood up. 

‘Hello?!’ 

**THUMP!**

_‘Oh no, I think,’_ there was the sound of him licking his lips and swallowing nervously _‘I think something happened to Intern Karen, I think-’_ he gasped again, when he spoke his voice was hushed and distant as though he were hiding _‘I saw someone through the glass… If I go now I can get Karen from the breakroom and-’_

There was a click of the radio booth door. 

_‘No,’_ Cecil said louder and deeper this time, like it was a statement, _‘No. Get away.’_

_‘Helllllo Friiiend!’_


	15. Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos desperately tries to reach Cecil but he keeps finding himself at Josie's house. 
> 
> This is the beginning of the end. The sky has fallen. 
> 
> The angels are bad at their job. 
> 
> I like moths. 
> 
> And being self-referential.
> 
>  
> 
> DISRUPT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can probably say for certain that I spent more time writing this section than other in this whole fanfiction. I've been revisiting it constantly since I starting writing this to get the feel of it exactly how I wanted it. I really really hope that you have stuck with me this far. If you have, THANK YOU <3 I realise that this may have been quite the slow burn.
> 
> This is what I've been leading up to.
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is complete with violence, fourth wall breaks, what I hope is the well captured voice of a certain someone and a painstakingly selected and wonderfully out of place weather that I hope you'll enjoy. Fun fact. I play this on the ukulele! 
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter has a major trigger warning for violence.

Carlos hit the brakes so hard his body slammed into the steering wheel with force, noticing only then that his Hybrid Coup somehow didn’t have airbags, he held firm to it however and turning with the remaining momentum the car, he executed a five-point turn, his wheels screeching. 

Cecil said nothing In reply.

The smile in the other’s voice was audible _‘It’s so good to see you! It’s been a_ very _long time.’_

There was a sudden shuffle followed by what Carlos imagined to be someone being slammed bodily onto Cecil’s desk. 

_‘Ah ah,’_ the menacing voice chided _‘That’s no way to great an old friend, why, you should be happy to see me! I being your double and all, I mean you could think of me as a brother! And I was such good company to your poor lonely Carlos when he was trapped in that desert.’_

_‘You’re not-’_ Cecil began, straining as though under a weight. There was another bang _‘Ah! Listeners, if you’re hearing this- Ow! Send help!’_

_‘Now Cecil, who do you think is going to help you? Don’t you know that you’re already on the losing side? The beings that helped me ensure that nobody could get in or out of this… cheerless building you call a radio station were highly efficient. It makes me smile just thinking about it! It’s just swell to see- OMPF!’_

Cecil and the other man were clearly struggling now. A sick rush went through Carlos, fear and adrenaline mixing with the realisation that they weren’t evenly matched despite being doubles, not only did the man he was fighting with have a great capacity for violence, but Cecil had barely enough strength to walk unaided this morning. Until not too long ago, he had even been unconscious.

Little, satisfied noises were being made in response to Cecil’s apparent blows, eerily sounding very much like he was enjoying whatever damage Cecil did to him.   
Carlos could hear things being knocked into and thrown. He heard the tiny ring of a ceramic cup being plucked from the desk near the microphone followed by the sound of it shattering.

Then a slam, like someone being thrown bodily against a wall. 

_‘You really-’_ The cheerful voice, began, straining. 

**SLAM.** _‘Ah- ah!’_ Cecil shouted unevenly. 

_‘-need to learn-’_

**Bang.** _‘Awh!’_ Cecil’s voice was nasally, liquidy. Carlos imagined blood flowing out of his nose.

_‘-to be more-‘_ he continued, effort in his happy tone. 

**BANG!** _‘AHA!!’_

_‘-cooperative!’_

Cecil’s next pained shout was suddenly muffled. 

_‘There, there, it’s okay. Breathe for me, go on. Go on. You’re not going to be able to fight me. You’ll only make it worse for yourself, and we can’t have that! Thaaat’s it.  
Thaaaaaaaat’s it. You’re doing great!’_

_‘Mmghf!’_

_‘Now, now,’_ the intruder chided playfully. 

_‘Mm-hh!!’_

_‘You’re cute when you thrash like that.’_

Carlos heard no more from Cecil, he craned forward, trying to listen over the sound of his own heart as he drove. 

_‘Are we getting sleepy?’_ he sang, like he was talking to a pet.

There was pause and the sound of a body dropping to the floor.

The following silence seemed to seep out from the radio and fill every square millimetre of air and into these millimetres Carlos silently begged to no-one-in-particular that Cecil was alright.

It was then Carlos realised. He was back where he started. He was approaching Josie’s house again. He had gone nowhere. It was as though the road had looped on itself.   
Carlos made a panicked U-turn that was much less impressive than his first. He set his sights on the blinking radio tower in the void.  
He heard the sound of dragging on the radio, a person, a chair. The strain of weight, vocalised by Cecil’s assailant. The relieved sounds of a weight unloaded. Shuffling. The distinct, tuneless song of large cable ties being tightened. Shuffling… was that maybe, the note of a tiny piece of glass being struck lightly? Happy, terrible humming as he went about his work. Silence. Silence. Then- 

_‘Hello friends, this… is Kevin! So, I guess you’re all wondering what’s going on! Well I’ll tell you all since you’ve all asked so nicely, via the terribly outdated systems used by my current, indisposed colleague here at Night Vale Community Radio! And my my, have you expressed your worries and concerns for old Cecil here! And you know what? You have a right to be concerned, Night Vale! You’ll be happy to know that your usual host is currently drugged and tied to a chair! He’s even bleeding a little... I’ve roughed him up a bit, not just for my own satisfaction, and let me tell you it really was quite satisfying, but out of necessity! He really put up a struggle, Night Vale! What a terribly uncooperative man. And while I’m on the topic of uncooperative party-poopers, I want to express what shame it is that this, that the Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area didn’t truly embrace Strex Corp… We would have put him to rights, we would have put ALL OF YOU to rights. Oh well, better late than never, as they say in less productive circles!’_ Kevin gave a long, audible sigh, close to the microphone, a smile in his voice _‘It is good to be back, listeners. I have quite the show for you today. I was mercifully released from that vast stretch of desert I have been trapped in for over a year. And why, you ask, did I decide to come directly to this radio station and not my own, far superior and far better decorated station in my hometown of Desert Bluffs? Well, I’m here on a holy mission for the Smiling God, who granted me access into Night Vale on the condition that I wreak murder and mayhem at this station and ensure a certain scientist’s heart…. Stops…. Beating!’_

There was a groan in the background. 

_‘Cecil!’_ Carlos shouted, driving frantically, seeing Old Woman Josie’s house coming into view again.

_‘Oh, looks like we have a trouble maker here! That’s just not productive, Night Vale!’_

There was the squeal of a chair being moved, followed by a loud thud and a muffled shout. 

_‘Ughh, get OFF!’_ came Kevin’s disgusted voice, the cheer replaced with something more immediately violent. There were a few dull but unmistakeable sounds of a body being kicked. Carlos whimpered with every one, willing Kevin to stop, gripping the steering wheel tighter. 

_‘So before my friend here tries to do something silly again, I should explain why he’s tied up at all! Other than the little issue of your usual host being a danger to the Smiling God’s grand plan... he’s bate! I was tempted to spread his insides over this soundboard, as it stands it’s really lacking in viscera, but that wouldn’t guarantee me the man I really want, now would it?’_

Kevin paused, making an amused little noise. Then his voice lowered in a parody of intimacy, a chillingly personal tone, intended for one person’s ears only _‘Carlos, I’m sure you’re listening. And I’m sure you’re on your way. I’ll give you ten minutes, and in every one of those minutes your boyfriend is all mine… Though, looking at the state of him it appears somebody has had a head start. I’m very interested to see what might be under those bandages of his. If you fail to arrive, well, you see Carlos, this man is my double, we’re the same thing, and I have questions I want answered. It’s scientific curiosity. So, you see, after that time, I can’t really guarantee how much of him will be left intact. As he said himself, “Kill your double...” But before that happens, I’m giving you this chance. Your life for his! I’m sure I’ll be seeing you very soon, sweet Carlos.’_

The wordless, muffled shout Carlos heard in the background was unmistakably Cecil’s. Carlos audibly shouted as well, bashing the steering wheel a few times in frustration, tears blocking his vision as he turned around for a third time.

_‘Would you kindly...!’_ Kevin said, obviously no longer at the desk, his words were followed by another kick and what Carlos imagined was Cecil being hauled back upright in his chair. _‘Let me just fix that for yo- Ow!’_

_‘Carlos!’_ Cecil’s voice was frantic and terrified, but clearly slurred _‘Don’t come, just- just leave me…Hide… Please… please, I don’t want you dead because of me Carlos I-’_

A loud slap broke his panicked message.

Kevin’s voice was breathy _‘Biting isn’t very nice, friend!’_

Everything seemed to go quiet for a while, until tiny gagging breaths came through his radio speakers. They went on, developing an air of desperation. The sound surrounded Carlos sickeningly. Tiny noises, nothing, failed gulps, nothing. Kevin was choking him. He didn’t want to listen but he needed to hear Cecil breathing again, he needed to know that Kevin had stopped. When he finally heard a deep, coughing gasp he realised that he had been holding his breath too. 

_‘Silly Cecil!’_ said the horrid man as his double tried to get air through his audibly crushed trachea. There was some shuffling and Kevin was now louder, overlaying any more sound from Cecil _‘Hello again folks! I apologise for that little interruption! I have to deal with a few things here at the station, listeners, and I am very much looking forward to them. There’s really nothing like getting things done! And you know what? I still have the trusty coffee hammer I used to fix the cabinets in the break room earlier with that intern! Mmm, cooperation really is the key to success! But every now and again, when you want something done just right, you just must do it yourself, Night Vale! …And while I do that, and this town’s favourite scientist speeds towards his doom. Here’s the weather for you!’_

Chuppee – Cocoon

‘No no no no no no!’ Carlos cried into the radio ‘Please no. Please no. PLEASE NO!’ 

The weather was too cheery, but he had to listen, just in case there was an interruption or it ended early. The headlights barely illuminated what was ahead of him, the blackness seeming to absorb everything around it, all he knew was he couldn’t get to Cecil. He couldn’t get to Cecil. He hadn’t considered this happening, he had been short sighted enough to believe that every peril related to this universe-righting-bloodlust would pursue him and him alone. He was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Carlos had turned down every road that might lead him to the radio station, but he still found himself on that same stretch of road. He passed Old Woman Josie’s house and the abandoned car lot two more times before he pulled over violently and flung himself out of the car in a panic, leaving the radio and engine on and the driver door open, not noticing the strange give in the void beneath him now, the way he had to wade through it like shallow water. He stumbled to Josie’s door, all but throwing himself at it as he knocked frantically. The light bulb in the porch above him seemed to have a small, distinctive halo around it, and was being circled by some very enthusiastic moths. 

‘Josie! Erika?! Erika! Please open up!’ 

Carlos jumped up and down on his feet impatiently. He glanced at Cecil’s car, still hearing the weather and watching the exhaust fumes curl into air. He didn’t see how those fumes went nowhere, hanging in strange sheets like morning fog. 

The latch clicked on the other side and the door squeaked open to reveal a strange, tall being. Carlos was unperturbed. 

‘Erika! Cecil is in trouble. I can’t get to the radio station! Kevin might kill him. The roads just keep looping on themselves. Please help!’

‘Oh, you want _Erika_. I’m _Erika_.’ 

‘No!! I don’t have time for this. Get me Erika, _now_!’ 

‘Alright, you don’t have to shout, Josie is sleeping… ERIKA!’ Erika shouted.

The Erika he was looking for appeared at the door and the other Erika moved aside. Erika spoke with painful slowness ‘Hello Carlos. Yes, I’m aware of what’s happening. I know you’ve come here for my help.’

‘Yes! Yes, help me!’ he panted, wide eyed. The moths cast fluttering shadows all over them and the same space in its dance with the light bulb.

‘Okay, just give me a few seconds,’ Erika disappeared into the house for longer than Carlos deemed “a few seconds”. Carlos craned at the door to see what was happening, wishing desperately that Erika would go faster. In the distance, a coyote howled. The misplaced smell of flowers from Josie’s garden and the potted plants became an unwelcome sweet olfactory assault when Cecil’s life was hanging in the not-so-proverbial balance. 

Soon, Erika was back in the doorway with…. that tiny white flower from just outside their home. Miraculous and strange. If these perfect white petals had seemed strange in the usually barren desert landscape not a day ago, and if it had been weirder still when the sky had fallen on Night Vale, it was plainly bizarre to see it pinched at the stem in Erika’s otherworldly fingers. Carlos was certain that was indeed what it was. It gleamed strangely in the angelic porch light.

‘What the hell, that flower? Are you pulling my leg!?’ Carlos shouted, bewildered, wondering if he was wasting his time and he should bolt for the car again. 

‘Don’t worry, the flower has something to do with the writer’s weird love for being self-referential. That’s why the rooves keeps leaking and the whole thing’s a bit, I dunno, cyclical. Repeats itself a bit. It’s bound to do something.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘What?’ Erika echoed.

Carlos let Erika pass him the flower. He held the bright green stem, expecting something to happen. It didn’t. 

‘Ooh, no, you have to get in the car and drive again. Take it to the radio station. It might take a few more tries but you should get there.’ 

‘What!? What are you, even!? Some kind of ineffectual Fairy God Mother!?’ 

‘I’m an angel, Carlos,’ 

‘Maybe this is why no one acknowledges you guys, you’re bad at your job!’ 

‘That hurt,’ Erika stated ‘Remember we’re disrupting something here. It’s for _all_ of him.’

But Carlos was already running back. He jumped in the car. The weather was still playing. 

‘Carlos!’ Erika was advancing toward the car as Carlos began to roll away. He didn’t feel like slowing. He rolled down the window and caught Erika’s single word ‘DISRUPT.’


	16. Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos tries to get back to the radio station. But something is very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey :D xx 
> 
> So here it is, more of the madness that is The Sky is Falling ;) Again there's more to come. The end of my fanfiction has sort of organically filled out almost on it's own (it has gained sentience, send help D: !! ), I really thought we weren't going to go beyond 10 chapters but hey-ho. I'm happy. 
> 
> And again, I really want to say just how wonderful all of your comments have been. It's so nice to have a break from this only to find that more people have enjoyed it. I'm now back into my own writing and I really think that it is because of all of the feedback and kind words you've shared with me <3 
> 
> Some fun facts about my writing for anyone who's interested... I've only really ever worked on two pieces of writing other than early stuff and fanfiction. Two. I was writing a fantasy novel from the ages of 13 to 17, and it was over 300,00 words of personal growth and pure love for what I was doing when I finally retired it. I still have a deep affection for the characters and the story is STILL evolving in my imagination. The second I picked up at 17 (they overlapped for a while) and it's still ongoing now that I'm 24. Though it's been through so many changes (like me) that it could be said to be in a pretty fluid state at the moment. However, my idea has really solidified in the past year and I'm planning on really going for it in the new year. It is literally about change too. And if you think this fanfiction is mad and self-referential, you should read my own work :'D 
> 
> Sending lots of love from my happy (and very cold!) little corner of Dublin xx

There wasn’t time to think. Carlos was barely in his seat; he had hardly thought about it when he tucked the stem of the strange little white flower into the top button hole of his flannel, and Erika’s words were only half registered when he began accelerating passed Old Woman Josie’s house. He left the light of their old friend’s street and careened into the darkness. When he had closed the car door, he had trapped a strange perfume of honeysuckle and gritty fumes that seemed to turn the air about him brownish grey and it didn’t leave even with one window open. However, Carlos had blocked out most sensory input at this stage, fixed on getting to the radio station. His whole being was under emergency, he was wide eyed and his head was thumping, there was only blackness ahead of him now, but he had to reach him somehow. Cecil. Somewhere beyond this awful looping, Scalextric track that he was on, Cecil was in the hands of someone whose intent was to harm him. Cecil was being harmed to bate him there. 

Carlos moved up a gear robotically as the road descended, though he knew it did so only from memory. He couldn’t tell which way was up in this horrible mess, his inner ear was telling him that he was spinning, his eyes told him that he was falling. He could be tumbling out of control in the vacuum of space for all he knew but for the presence of semi-breathable, albeit fumy, air. Most of the lights of Night Vale were under a funeral shroud now, no longer intermittent beacons of life around him, they had been snuffed out. And his might-be-concussion had put the cherry on the zero-sense-of-orientation cake. He was blind and in despair. He couldn’t count on luck either, not if reality was collapsing purely to rid itself of him. He imagined himself crashing or falling into the nothingness, never to reach Cecil. 

He didn’t feel the resistance beneath the wheels, he didn’t feel his slow sink. But noticed with a start that made him veer that the weather had ended. It opened onto dead air. He listened, goose bumps rose on every inch of him, a beating in his ears filled the silence. Dead air. Or? 

A shaky, watery, pained hiss floated to the top of the soft static the car radio was putting out. _Cecil._

A chuckle, cartoon happiness and murderous madness. _NOT Cecil._

Then. He was kicking him, Carlos could hear it, Cecil was tied to that chair and Kevin wasn’t holding back. A small whimper and the hollow screech of the wooden chair accompanied every terrible thump. And just then, to the scientist’s dismay, Josie’s house was there again ahead of him, lit up like a candle in a blackout. Carlos’ blood went cold and nausea washed over him, he was stranded, too overwhelmed, too sickened to react verbally. Heavy, silent tears slipped from his eyes. He eased the pedal at his feet down and saw her home flit by him in a late-night ride carnival blur. Every ten seconds or so was marked by unholy noises that should never come out of a radio; the sounds of a body being kicked, lifted and thrown, the unhinged ramblings of a violent man in the act, the crying and begging of his victim, a familiar voice that Carlos had never thought he would have to hear like that. He descended again, he executed all the turns my memory, hoping that this was the last time, but there it was again, this time he didn’t look, and he didn’t see that fat moth’s fall as it stunned itself off the lightbulb. And then that man’s voice came to him, horribly intimate, so close to the microphone Carlos could feel his breath on his ear. 

_‘It would seem to me,_ dear _Carlos, that your time is up! And don’t you worry about being late, I have_ so _much more to do here before you arrive._ If _you arrive, that is! And oh, how the Smiling God is pleased!’_ Kevin chuckled, panting _‘The fun is only just beginning here at the radio station! My friend here has been very cooperative these past few minutes… he’s been asking for you, you know… I told him that there’s always the possibility that you’re already dead of course, and oh, how quiet that made him!’_

Carlos could hear the pause in his voice. He waited. He hoped that Kevin might spend more time talking so that he could get to Cecil in whatever state he was in now and not in the state that Kevin was intending now that the ten minutes were up. 

Kevin’s stretched lips must have been less than an inch from the microphone when he said _‘He’s all mine now.’_

As a tuneless, high note of metal rang out, Carlos was bombing through the darkness at what he thought was breakneck speed. With one hand off the wheel he carefully pulled the flower out of his top button hole and worried the stem between his fingers. ‘Come on, come on, please, please…’ he whispered ‘Please I just want to get to Cecil. Please.’ 

And then he saw it again. The lights of- 

No, no that was another house… he was…. The road had stopped looping on itself, he was out, he drove, crying and almost laughing, manic with relief. He held the stem carefully between his index and middle finger as he returned his hand to the steering wheel. He wasn’t far now, he could make it. He thought he saw the light at the top of the radio tower. But suddenly, with a point of reference, he became aware of the tension between the wheels, of the fact that he was virtually crawling towards the landmarks ahead of him and not flying passed them as he had hoped. It was as though the car was straining against a giant rubber band that was reaching its limit. He put the pedal to the floor but the engine only reeved as though hauling a massive weight. As he slowed, the sky above him raced, deep grey and purple cloud structures, like a boiling river. When he heard Cecil shout, the car rolled to a stop as naturally as if it had hit a bank of mud or snow. He cried out along with Cecil. He tried to back up but the car was going nowhere. He screamed, rocking the whole vehicle as another shout was ripped from Cecil and onto the airwaves. He would have to run. He put the flower back in his buttonhole, but as he jumped out of the car, he still secured it beneath his fingers, he was not about to let his last, strange shred of hope go. He left the radio on and the car door open. He was relieved to find himself on apparently solid ground, he set his sights of the radio tower, cutting through the air in the faster sprint than he ever thought he could muster. He was getting closer. He wasn’t far now. But something about the ground startled him, the feeling that with every foot fall, he was hitting gradually softening putty. He went on, pushing harder. He searched for the radio tower again, but- 

Something was wrong with his perspective. Night Vale looked taller somehow, as though he had shrunk, no, not shrunk… 

He looked up and to his left, only to see, with a gasp, the metal underbellies of a number of parked cars outside of a now boarded up Dark Owl Records and the dark outline of foundations of the buildings around him, with bricks and concrete, roots and ragged earth; the worm’s eye view. He panicked, flailing upwards, jumping as though it would give him a foothold, feeling himself sinking. The air entering his lungs was coming in thickly, and he was choking and coughing on it, gulping silently like a fish on the wrong side of a boat. He was in pure panic, the likes of which he had never experienced as he watched the distance between him and underside of Night Vale became inexplicably longer. He clawed in front of him, as though he might be able to swim back to land. He could see more buildings now, more cars, the ugly tangle of roots, the picture before him growing bigger, the same way one’s view changes as an airplane rises. 

This was the end of him. This was the end of Cecil.

How was it that it had come to this? How was it that he had found Cecil or come to Night Vale at all? How was it that he could grow up, that he could have thoughts and experiences, a life, only for it to end at this point? He gulped again, but it only seemed to compress his lungs, there was no air down here. Was there any meaning in all of this? What was next? Was there a next? 

Just as the universe had wanted it, he was literally and figuratively losing his hold on this world. Somewhere, somehow, he could hear, or thought that he could hear Cecil crying for him.


	17. Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ʇ͍͚̥̫̫͉̜d͚̠̩̗̤n̝͙ɹ̟̰̥̲͖̲͡s̺̰̖ᴉ͔͉͖̮̠͉̟p҉͙ ͍͈ʇ̗͡d̼̦͝n̗ɹ͈̲̰̩̰ͅͅs̸ᴉ̠͓̪̦͎p͎̦͉̱͙̬̱ ̢̟̬ʇ͔͕̳͝d͓͎ͅn̫̭̣̩̰ɹ̷s̪̭̩̞̬̹̙ᴉ͔̳̪̣̤̮p͙̳͍̼ͅ ̸̝̟̝̬ʇ̴̼̖͙d͏̖ͅn̙̞͓͜ɹ̭̤̥͉̬͟s̫̜͢ᴉ̵͉̦͕̫͕̗p̯̦̮ ̮͖̙̥͢ʇ͍͍̰͞d͏n̯͓̪͔̪̜̦ɹ̙̣s̖̜ᴉ̯̰͡p̣̭̯̬̭̳̠ ̺͙͕͕̫̯ʇ̲̣̣̜̮̬͠d͘n̘͞ɹ̝̮s͇̠̖̻͎̞͡ᴉ̧̭̟p̸̠̯͖̞̫͙ ͡ʇ̴͖͇̗d̜̟͎͈n̹̘̹ɹ̰s͓̘ᴉ̙p͙̣͙ ̮̙͙̠͇̺͜ʇ̜̻̞̞ͅd͚̟͕̜͚̩͠nɹ҉̤̟̱̗͉̖͓s̫̗̮ᴉ̙͙̤̣̳p̨̖̠ ̶̪͇͔̰̞ʇ̞͓͢d̼̯̠̻nɹ̷̙s̘͘ᴉ̗̭͍p̤̼͎ ʇ͕dn̷̤̩͇̝͎̺ɹ̥s̶͎̞̫̲̭̗̮ᴉ̖͜p̹̠̮ ͏͔̼͎̙̮͖ʇ̯͞ḏ͎n̘̮̟̭͘ɹ̜̭̥͕̥͢s͈̩̘͕̼͍ᴉ̣̥p͙ ̢̘͓̫̹̩̼ʇ͝d̫n̮ɹ̵̰̹͓̪̗s̼͈͎͡ᴉ̳͔͢p̩̻̖̱ ͍̙ͅʇ͖̤̠͟d̜̖̗̩̤̖ͅn͏ɹ̠̲͉̯̮̟͠s̻͎̯ᴉ̢p̪̬͟ ͙͉͕͎͙͜ʇ̯͇̼͍̫̬͔ḏ͔̯͕͓ͅn̺̹̰͜ɹ͍s̜̥̬̬̗̯ᴉp̶ ̬̟̪̲ʇ̰͉̞d̷̩̜͍̻͙ͅn͖̱̝̬͖̳͞ͅɹ̻̭̮sᴉ̷͓͈̞̰̯̩p̢̭̰͎ ʇ̖dn͉̳͖̪ɹ̲s̡͈̙̘̣ᴉp̷͓̹̻̝̣̰ͅ ͙̠̫̱ʇd̛͕̗̦̟ņɹ̵̩̹̩̤͖s҉̯̥ᴉ̢̯̯̬̬͍ͅp̜̦ ̧̱̱͕̜̘̘ͅʇ̷͇͇̣͓d̷̗̝̺n̳ɹ̰͍̮͈̖̰̭s͟ᴉ͔͠p̯͕̫̼̟ ͇͞ʇ̠̝̳͈̹d͚n͏̮̭ɹ̢̻̲̜̲s̷̹̠̹͖ᴉ̣̝͇p҉͍̱̫̼̬ ̛̬̣̼̩̹̱ʇ͇̜̭͉̼ͅd̠͖͞n̦̯̜̙̙̣̰ɹ̴̯͓̳̱̲sᴉ̝͉͈͔̞̭p̦͇̟̮̠̤͖͢ ̙̦̪͔͇ʇ̶͈̠̹̬͇d̙̣̳̺͝n̟͇̭͙͜ɹ̦̬̖sᴉ̷p̙͉͙ ͚͉͙͚ʇ̻̥d̺n͚̫̮ɹ̛̗͔͕̘s̯͍͕̞̟ᴉ̰̜̜͚̖̳p̸͓ ͍̺̼̘̙͢ʇ̥̠͔̩̻͜d̻̟͖̫̗̻n̴ɹ͔͢s̷̝͖͔ᴉ̩͇͞p̷̟̩͔ ͏͍̞ʇ̨̗̲̜̟̮d͙̮̦͙̺͢n̪̲̬͕̼ɹ̸̘̦͙̩̻s̡͖̭ᴉ̼̘̥̖͇p҉̟̩͓͇̤̖̰ ̦̜̩̮̬͇͜ʇ̳͍͔ḍ͖̮̥̭̯͜n͝ɹ҉̳͖͓s̢͈̭̫̰ᴉ̱p̪̻͓̰̗͔̟ ͏̦̙̖͚ʇ̵̙̠̥͚̝͖d̫̰̺̱̮̰n̬ɹ͇̟̼̘͇s̹̺̟͇ᴉ̫͈̤̟̝͓͚p̳̰̼̪ͅ ̛̟̯ʇ̧d̞n̥͓ɹ̵̱̘̰̠̣s͙̩ᴉ͉̼͉p̳̞̫̱͙͔ ̼̮͙ʇ͍̫̮͉͢d͇͎̙n͉͎͚͘ɹ̶͕̟͕̟̜s̰̺̥ᴉ̞̬͔̟̤p̛̣͔̥͎̮̙̼

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY :D  
> I know I said I would upload this ages ago. But here it is now :) x 
> 
>  
> 
> DISRUPT

Carlos was drowning.  
Carlos was lost in space.  
Carlos was dying. 

His hand was outstretched, reaching toward the surface, the ground, toward Night Vale and Cecil, even as he was losing consciousness, even though it was hopeless. Even with the crushing weight that seemed to lay on every part of him and filled his lungs with lead, his hair floated as though in water, his tears were whipped away from him and rose about him. He was light and heavy. The sky had finally fallen, the sky had inverted and now he was floating. 

Carlos wasn’t sure if his strange view of Night Vale was darkening as he retreated or if his vision was fading out as he lost consciousness, but he could barely see it anymore. The few lights left were the only things that remained. The radio tower blinked. It blinked. Blink blink blink blink blink bli- 

Something tiny glinted in the nothing between Carlos and Night Vale. 

A cold drop of water hit Carlos’ forehead, just as he felt something within himself starting to spin toward a horrible dark unknown. Another hit his cheek. Another hit his hand and wet spread down his fingers. From there it increased, drop after drop hit him and fell about him until it was raining with the heaviness of his first night in back from the Desert Otherworld. When he had truly seen Cecil for the first time in a year. When he had hoped then that there would be a future stretched out before them, despite his self-reliance, despite his need to be alone… 

But -how long had he spent in the Desert Otherworld, really? Hadn’t he wondered that desert so endlessly, so impossibly? Hadn’t there been an unrelenting cold light that had cast upon every inch of that world and the people within it? That cold light had filled his heart with apathy and had brought an empty smile to his face, he knew that now. It had given him the best time and the worse time, it had taken him away from what he held dear and had given him something else. All of his faults were amplified, all of his troubles and responsibilities were far away. Yes, there had been a part of him that had wanted to run away, that didn’t want the intensity that a relationship with Cecil brought, that didn’t want to be relied on, that wanted a world that was just him and his research again. Cecil had told him again and again that Carlos was his salvation and his happiness, that Carlos could save Cecil from himself, his mind and the habits he couldn’t kick. Carlos had wanted to run as much as he had wanted to hold him close and sooth his pains, but he had been too weighed down by the obligation of it all to do either. God, he had left Cecil so alone in this amplified inaction, his need to be alone. He had tried to get out, he tried, but hadn’t there been a point when he had stopped trying? It had been so damaging, addictive… It was the best. It was the worst. 

And he was finally here, in Night Vale where he and Cecil might have been able to heal, to know happiness. But what did it matter when-! 

He gulped, he flailed, this was it. 

He tried to drink in his last view of Night Vale, resigned now that he had met his fate and nothing more could be done. What a strange town this was. What a wonderful, imperfect man he had come to love. And what an awful end to all of it this was. The radio tower was still blinking, so far away now… But, there were two lights now, in the darkness above him… how could there be two? No, there were more, as he descended more and more lights came into view. But it was more than just the radio tower-

There was a sound like a symbol being stuck, like a thousand whispers condensed into a moment and it rang and rang  
˙͓̟̫̺͉͖͕u̦̭͉̯̜̩ǝ̲̝͖̥̠̩͍̤̼l̘l͚̰͖̱̹ɐ̞͎͇͔̜̙̬̘ɟ̣̭̝̣ ̲͇̬͔̭s̫̣̱̺̱͙̖ɐ̞̩͈̹̘̘̘̳͇ɥ͇̪̜͇̣̖ ̦̙̮̖̙͓ʎ͍͓̺̣͖̞͈̰ʞ̱̩̰͔̲̻s̪̠̤ ̩̥͚͍͍͍ǝ͓͇̭͓̘͎̺ͅɥ̩̱̥̥̰̳͕T̗͉̹ ͍̦˙͕̦͍u̙͔̺̲̳̻̪ǝ̻l͈̜̥l͖̖̞ɐ̦̗̼̳̯̺̘̭ɟ͓͍͙͖ ͇̣͍̝̮s̤̭̺͔ɐ̰͓͈͈͎̞̟͈ɥ̻̦̬ ̰̘̩͍̲̹̤̣ʎ̠̺̰̯ʞ͍͓̙̣͇s͚̣̹̭͈̮͙̠ͅ ͙̥͖̼̖̯̱̘ͅǝ͚͇ɥ̲̳̣͙̗̟͇͉T̰̭͙̖͈̱ ͓̫͕̰˙̫̬̼̣ͅu̲̟ǝ̤̙͕͇̬̘̥͖̼l̻̳̥̳̲̪͖̜̠l̻͖̲̞̤͖̭͎ɐ̥̠̼͖̤̠̗ɟ̙̬̖̬̖̳̱ͅ ̺̳̲͍̖͙̻̭s͍̙ɐ͇̯̱̯̙̝̣̥͉ɥ̖͉ ̟̘̜̤̱̘ʎ̺͕͙̹̜̼͇ʞ̯̙s̫̠̼̺̙̠ ͔̱̫̻̯͕̩̻ǝ̫̗̖̤̙̱̹̪͍ɥ̳̹̱̫͇T̻̼̼̤͕͉̭̝̱ ͇̣̩͎̦͇͔̭˙̲̘̞̗̬͕͎ͅs̭͎̮͓͈l̗͇͎̤̰̱̳͖ǝ̮̲ƃ̺̗͉̻̣̤u̯̰ɐ̜̺̫̞͖̙ ̖͉̤̥̙̩̳s̭̟͙̼ǝ͚̘̫͈̰͔̟ʌ̰͉̪̘̭l̮̪͇̙̙̞ǝ̥s̖̤̖ɯ͇͈ǝ̱͈͉̰̹̖̦̻͓ɥ͎͚͖̭͎ʇ͇͎ ̳̗̬l͕̦̤̝̙͕l͍͍ɐ̝̪̻̞͇͈͍̙̘ɔ̭̺ ̘̬͍̫̘͇̬ʇ̯͙ɐ̲̫̗̗̠ɥ̙͉͔͓ʇ̭̤͚̥ ̣̬̤̠̖ͅs̭̯̼̼ƃ̜̬̠̘͚͈̦u̦͔͔̝̻ᴉ̟͉͙̘̪ͅǝ̠͖̫q̯̟̜ ͇̹̥ǝ̩̖̫̬͖̣̞ɥ̬͉̘̤ʇ̭̪ ̩̹o̱͙ʇ̖͍͈͇̖͔ͅ ͔̻̯̹ͅu͔̗ǝ̺͚̫̰͇͈ʇ̼̖͖̤͓̦s͈͇ᴉ̼͚͓l̩̖̲̮͇ͅ ̺̻͎̤͍͎̳̥ʇ̤̟̣̣͈o͎̞̼̦̣u̥͇͇̞͓̗ ̯̺̫͙͓̞̞̥͖o̝̙͔̗p̫͇͓̦͎̯ͅ ͓̝̼̰̤ͅ˙̜͕̫͙̭ͅu͖̥͎̤̤̥̣̼ǝ̪̦̬̬l̠͈͇̳͈͔l̳̹̤̠ɐ̘̖̲͉̠̖͙̪ɟ̦̮͍̩̬͔͕͉͙ ̤s͔̣͚̹ͅɐ͎̬̩̞̫̮̭ͅɥ̩̪̺ ̖̝̜̙̣̦ͅʎ̭̻͔̼̻̜͚̳ʞ̤̙͖͉̳͔̥̥͔s̬̜̤͚͓͍ ̳̜͇ǝ͈ɥ͇̜T̟͇ ̞̮̜˙̼͇̮̗͍ṣ̲̥̝s͇̩̼̹͇͖o͍̣̰ͅl̜ ̳̺l̗͙ɐ̱͚n̝͎͙͕̣̼͈ʇ͈̟͕̹̯̯ǝ̝͙̠͈͎d͕͖̮̖̮̮̞ɹ͔̪ǝ͍̘̭͇̤̻̱d̖̤̗͕̼̞ ̻̱͔͍ɟ̟̤̼̰͕̠̠̝o͙̪͓̻̹͍̘̘̝ ͙ǝ͓̞̙̹̤̯͔̖ʇ͚̪̱̘͎ͅɐ̺̱̙̝̹̙̣ʇ̹̠̼͇̯s̯͍̣̫͓ ͎̟̫ͅɐ͔̰̫̹̞̖̠͉̜ ̘͖̼͉̳͕ͅͅu̖ᴉ͔̺̼̭ ͚͇̹̯̩p̮̬̪̘̥̦ǝ̮ǝ͙̫̥͇ɔ̱o͉͉̮͙ɹ̙̬̹̥d̞̠̻͍͈̯̳ ̞̥̲̯̻͙̣ʇ̼͚͈̬̠s͈̹͍̩̙͈͚̫n͚̥̲̬̣̦͍̼̤ɯ̱͕̝͉ ̣̫͔ƃ̜͎̹͙u͓̬͉̟̺̩̜͎ᴉ̖͔̠̗̻͔ɥ̫͎͕͔ͅʇ̦̳̗̬̘͈͔͍̲ʎ͎̙̣̲̭͇͍ɹ͈̝͍̬͚̰̟̬ǝ͇͖͉̖ͅʌ̫̝Ǝ̪̞̭̪ͅ ̬͙̼˙̠͖͈̫̺̙u̠̫͍͈̖̪̳̗ͅǝ̩̘͚̬̻̪ḻ̘͈ͅͅl̦̯̮̰̞ɐ̻̮̦ɟ͍̠̫͔̟̗ ̼̙̟̫̞̜̩͙ș̳̻̰ɐ͕̜͈̫̝̻ɥ͍ ̺̘̲̫̼̤ͅʎ̘ʞ͎s̼̞̲̠ ̲̼͚ǝ̝͎̜ɥ̠͚̦͖͕̻̳T̹͉̱̰̮̯ ͎̰̗͖˙̤͕̝̰̠̭̭ṳ̳͈̝̱̱͕̪̱o͎̥̫͚̰̼ᴉ̻̭̮̙͈̖̤ʇ̭͈̩̯d̤͚͎̱̜̹̭ͅn̠ɹ͈̥̣͕͓͚̝͓̮ș̖̫ᴉ̹͇͔p̥͚ ̮̪͍͍̯̮ͅo̤u̥̦ ͓͖̙̺̞̮̼ǝ̻̞̖̙q̺ ̥u̟̹̮̦̞̟ɐ̱̳ɔ͎̼̖͉̥͔ ̪̠͈͕̹̻̼͚ǝ̼̩͖͎͈̳ɹ̗͚̞̺̖̣͎ǝ̯̫̼̲ͅɥ̦̫͚̩̤ʇ̟͙̬ ̠̮̟͙̙̲̻͙̙p̳̹̜u̳̗͓͇͇͔̪͚͔ɐ͙̗̜ ̖̯̱͔̱̳̳͎s̙̤u͕̞̤͓͈̳o̖̱̲͈̰̺̻̣̗ᴉ͍͍̼̙͖͓̣͓ʇ̜̘̣ɐ̰͕̫̭͔̣͓ɹ̰͖͇̣̗̞̼̳ǝ̜̰̖̳̟͉̳ʇ͚̰̜ᴉ̫̝̝͈͙̮ͅ ̦̲͖̖̪̯ƃ͍̖̻̰̟u̲̣̰̺̣͈ᴉ͈̩̥̯̝l͖̞͇͎͓̞͕͈ͅq͖̩̬ɯ̣̱͎̝̞̟̼̳n̫͓̥̻̣ɹ̯̯̲͔͍̱̦̬ɔ̼͇͔͎ ͈̜ǝ̘̩̝̺̝̞ɥ̣̺͓͕ʇ͙͕̲̪̲̼͎ ̦̥͕̝̭͖̠̰̺ɟ͎͓͈̠o̥͙̝̼̣̦̱̳ ̼͕l̫̖̫l̼̳̗͓̮̰̗̙̫ɐ̟̱ ͈̦̹͙u̳̻̮̫̟̳ͅᴉ̘̱̬̝ ͉͖̲̦̻̖̙̱ɯ̱̣͉̰̤̺̦̟͇n̘̹͇ɹ͓͇̞̪͓ɔ̱̞̳̥̦̰̪̣l̼̩̠n̠̪̦͉̘̫ͅͅɟ̟̺͚̻̼ ̭͖ǝ̯̹̣͇ɥ̯̘̳̖̦͓̺ʇ̦̜ ̥̳̟͓̥̰ͅs̙͔͙ᴉ̝͖ ̱͇ͅǝ͓̤͎͖̭ɔ̟̱͓̲͇̺ᴉ̬̪o̩̖͇͕̟̖ʌ̲͖̦̲͈ ͙̥͇͕̗̲ǝ͎̥̞͇̰̟ɥ̖̗┴̺͓̟̯̝̖˙͇̭̟̖̣u̲̠͍̗̱̮ǝ͎̯̟̠͍̙̜̗̭l̰̳̻͍͓̺l̦̹̗͇̥̻̫̹̞ɐ͇̰͖͚̙̙ɟ̻̟̫̟͖̗ ̗̬̹͔͎̹s̤̘̖̼̭ɐ̭ɥ̠͖͙̳ ̥͍͓̹͇̳̝ʎ̹̟̪̻̯͚ʞ̞̜͇̪̜̯ͅs͖̤̜ ͇͓̹̘͍ǝ̤͉̞̗̬̱̫ɥ̩̥̺͎̣̬̮T͓ͅ ̜˙̝̫̞̖̩̠̻̰u̮̦̠͇̞̜̳̖̞ᴉ̼̟͎̱͖ɐ̗̫̝̪ƃ̹͙͍̺͇̰̠̳̟ɐ͔̜͈̱̦ ̬̗̫͙̫̻̦̟s̰̜̼̗̙̗s̗̙̝̞͈ǝ̺̳̗̲u̮̮͚̻̯ʇ̞̥̞̙͔ᴉ̟̫̰ͅͅʍ̫͈͕͉̜̝̘ ̘̰̬̣͖̰̪̠ǝ̩̯̤̣̮̲̮͎̬ɹ̫͕̬͕̣͙̼̱ɐ̹̰̱̞̯̣ͅq̤ ̙͚̺͔̩͚ʇ̦̪͖͙s͍̳͕̺ṋ͚̙̥ͅɯ̥͇̲̺̟̠ͅ ͈̜͖͙ǝ̱͖M͖̳͓ ̬̙̪͓˙͕͈̘̩͔u̳ǝ̻̞l͔͍̥͔l̬͉̳ɐ̪̮̜͕̰̩ɟ͈̜̪͈̩ͅ ̩̝͉s̮̗͓̪̣̳̩ɐ̹͍͎̬̱ɥ͙̩͎̻̬ ̬͇͉̘̟̺̙ʎ͍̝ʞ̝̟͎̯̤ͅs̩̼̣ ͉̥͈̪͙ǝ̺͍̥̻̞͉͔̰ɥ̙͖̦̥̺̜T̟͕

and Night Vale was multiplying before his eyes, cast in vibrant colours, a surrealist artist's rendition, doubling and tripling, splitting like cells and spreading out symmetrically like shapes in a shifting, spherical kaleidoscope. And he was at the centre of it all, dazzled and seeing beyond the usual dimensions of his world, his mind hardly able to comprehend, to take in what he was seeing as it expanded and moved about him. No version was quite at the same angle from his perspective, the depths of each one were familiar but so unfamiliar when looked at like this. This experience was so alien, he swore he could feel the confused signals to and from his sensory organs flaring in his already starved synapses. Was this the last thing he would ever experience? So many Night Vales, so many iterations of home, and presumably, the people within it. _Cecil, oh Cecil..._ In what felt like his last moments of consciousness, he looked about him, barely perceiving the rain that hit him from every imaginable angle. In all directions, at all impossible dimensions of the space he occupied, there was Night Vale. At the same time his awareness started to slip away, a puddle was forming, its surface reflecting all that went on above it, a dizzying mirror. As his still descending body slipped into the water, not disrupting it in the slightest, the noise stopped, and the water expanded silently into a lake.

He was unconscious by the time he was fully submerged and the little white flower in the button hole of his shirt was as drowned and as limp as he was. He descended, unaware to its green silted bottom, and neatly into the arms of a sitting woman with a deer’s head.


	18. Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the bottom of a lake, a god considers her options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hey x 
> 
> I'm snowed in. It's March. It's MARCH and I'm snowed in. Ireland has literally shut down. No buses, no trains, no shops, no work, no school. 
> 
> I have a friend snowed in with me. I wrote this when we were done goofing off for the night and there was a blizzard outside. 
> 
> Sending calming hot coco snow feels to you wherever you are,  
> Mighty x

Down in the murk at the bottom of a lake, at the base of a space that bisected the meeting point of thousands of versions of a quiet desert town where strange lights pass overhead while all of its residents, all mirror images of one another, all pretend to sleep, was a woman with a deer’s head. In her arms was a man, who not long ago had come to one version of this town and called it the most scientifically interesting community in America. And another man, an unknown face in the crowd, the voice on the radio, had fallen in love with him. 

Huntokar smoothed this drowned man’s flowing hair back from his face and studied him for a moment. He was beautiful, yes, but the universe had collapsed around him not because he was who he was, but because Night Vale was always in a state of suspended disaster and must remain so; Carlos represented a dangerous variable in this paused game of fate that she was playing by bringing about change in one of its only constants, the man caught in the centre of this mess, Cecil Palmer. Through it all, Cecil had remained the same, alone, having very little idea about the source of the strangeness, the scatteredness of his existence and that of his town, the inexplicableness of it all. As though Cecil were at the centre of gravity, Carlos’ proximity to him put the whole fragile system off balance, it was spinning out of control and the only way to exact itself and restore the precarious balance was to throw the scientist off and Cecil would be alone again, the lonely fulcrum. The kind of change that Carlos could bring about could disrupt the order of things, _was_ disrupting the order of things. Huntokar could smell the rocket fuel, hear the screams when she recalled that day in 1983 and she wondered whether this would be a disaster on the same scale, what would become of this strange town if she let this man live and offset the careful balance that she struggled to maintain. With Carlos so close to Cecil, Night Vale may not hold up to the event that lay ahead of it, when they would all bear witness to and become victims of the inevitable collision of worlds. The universe had rid itself of his man, to decide to return him would be hubris, it would show that she had learned nothing. She had little right to continue playing with the lives of these people, and the consequences could be devastating. Huntokar should keep him down here in her arms, in the cloudy primordial waters that she came from until his brain is starved of oxygen, until life could no longer be restored in him and he would be no more.

But- 

And what if Cecil died? Huntokar could not know what the consequences of his death could really be, even in this world that owed so much of itself to her and her mistakes, everything was a finely tuned chaos, owing great sensitivity to the smallest of changes, and beyond her comprehension. But what she did know at the very least, was that the overzealous work of the other gods and lesser beings had the potential to tip the scales in the other direction and could have a detrimental effect on the fabric of the universe. In case that were to happen, Carlos might have a chance of saving not just Cecil, but everyone. But nothing was certain. Huntokar couldn't help but consider that, despite it all, Carlos _had_ escaped the Desert Otherworld and had returned to Cecil. He loved the radio host enough for fate to give him a way out, a doorway back to Night Vale, and just one more chance. This is a work of fiction after all, and what other reason could there possibly be for anything in a story about two people and a whole lot of peril other than love? There was a chance, just like there was chance for everything, that all would be alright and Carlos live in a world that had previously rejected him with the man he risked it all for. And if Carlos were to die, he would leave a yawning absence in his world and in Cecil Palmer’s heart, she knew that. His desperate trying to return home to the person he loved nudged the scales just enough to allow him back. 

She noticed the flower with its stem twisted close to his collar bone, and she smiled inwardly. Its luminous petals waved very slowly in the near stillness of her lake and it only added to the tragic image of this lifeless scientist with his eyes closed, his neck elongated with the backward tilt of his head; the flower evoking very human associations that were pure and funerary. This flower that he had taken with him down here in the void had not simply rooted itself into the wet, sandy soil of his version of Night Vale but had tapped into all of them; it existed in this one yes, but it had some hold on the others. It was anchor-like, an axis in and of itself. This was certainly the work of the angels. It was a dangerous gambit, this little flower. It served as a foundation for their plan, Carlos could use it to secure his place in Night Vale, in all Night Vales, even as they crashed into each other and time was disintegrating. The flower would complete the process of disruption that Carlos had started when he escaped the Desert Otherworld to be with Cecil. 

Carlos was slipping away. Soon the blood in his veins would still and stale and his body would become swollen with water. All of his beauty will quickly vanish and all that the people who knew him would have is memories of him, and only straws to clutch at, never knowing what became of him and what his last moments were like. Or – she would restore him to Night Vale and he would return painfully to consciousness, chocking, gasping and vomiting up the contents of his lungs and his stomach, and give him one last toss of the dice. This option wouldn’t be easy for her either, these things cannot be done without some kind of payment, something to maintain at least some karmic balance, some pain, sacrifice. 

Huntokar was starting to feel the tug of a phantom current, the stillness of her lake was beginning to be stirred. She let go of Carlos, allowing the water to take him. She cupped his cold, grazed cheek with her hand as he was carried away from her and considered him. As much as she wanted to, she could not truly understand his mortality and the fear that he had faced over the last few days, but she understood his need to save someone from it. 

 

Huntokar collapsed, fishlike and naked in the darkness. Unseen grit and gravel embedded itself into her skin. Pain was not something she was used to. She rose shakily. When headlights filled her vision, she exhaled and did not move.


	19. Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all going to end soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what I'm going for here is a kind of reverse sacrifice if you're confused. I like the idea of a god picking favourites and expending their energy to help them along, kinda like Greek gods. And if the last few chapters were a bit of a mind fuck. Good :) 
> 
> The weather is a tune I've been listening to a lot recently. I toyed with using another one by them called "No Heart" but the lyrics fit really well. You'll see what I mean ;)
> 
> Love you all x

The jolt that hit Carlos’ body was immense, his heart crashed in his chest and his whole body revolted. His first, huge inhalation gave him unbelievable pain, it caught in his throat and he began to choke up water, terrified that he would drown all over again just where he lay, face down on the ground. He managed to get shakily onto his hands after some time. His eyes focused briefly on the impossible kaleidoscope beneath him from which he had somehow escaped. Tiny hints of glass, metal and water glinted up at him every now and then, a spectacle afforded by all of their setting suns, a striking sight especially when compared to the darkness of his world. A wave of nausea came over him, all of his senses were screaming overload and his sense of balance was doing vertigo inducing cartwheels. He heaved violently, painfully, wishing for a moment that the ground could swallow him all over again to end his suffering. When he was finished, he managed to crawl a few feet to his right, panting with the effort. Below him, the unfolding view was starting the dim, it’s outer reaches beginning to vanish beneath the deep darkness he had become used to over the past two days. 

A healed foot splashed into the image just as he was preparing to peal himself off the ground. He tried to see its owner, but an uneven, painful weight suddenly applied itself to his head, causing the cartilage of his nose to make an audible crunch as it collided with the unseen gravel. His mind went to the flower in his buttonhole, now presumably being crushed. He made a pathetic, distressed noise but was cut off when something small flashed sharply in the air to his right and clattered inches from his face. Wincing, panicking, he peered at it. It was the letter opener from his home, the one the Faceless Old Woman had stolen, the one that the Woman from Italy had somehow got a hold of. 

‘This belongs to you. You will need it. Ha! And she tells us not to interfere,’ she said, her voice accented, sensual and disdainful at the same time ‘The hypocrite! This will only end in destruction. Her little act will do nothing but prolong the inevitable. I’m happy to watch. I have had enough of this world.’ 

Carlos didn’t move, terrified. 

‘Go on,’ she said in a tone that could have been called encouraging if it had not been accompanied with a sharp stomp to the back of his skull. 

Carlos shouted, blood immediately bursting from his nose. He took a quick moment to steel himself, then all at once he grabbed it by the handle and flipped himself around, feeling her foot retract just as quickly. There she was, looking down at him again like she had earlier, though this time the freezing cold rain battered him from the left and her wide hat did nothing to shield him from it. She seemed to eye him, being as defensive as he could be for someone on his back, the small knife raised. 

She laughed at him, throwing her head back, the string of pearls bouncing lightly against her collar bones ‘Pathetic! To think you are the creature that has caused all of this trouble. “Let the lesser beings do their work,” and yet she picks favourites,’ she mocked ‘She cannot throw _us_ off the scent... But I’ll humour her and let you live. Let us see you make the most of her little sacrifice, she has spilled blood for your good fortune.’ 

She made to leave but she halted briefly, Carlos was sure of it, and she eyed the flower in his buttonhole like it was a major inconvenience, like it was a problem, like she had just discovered the source of a leaking roof. She turned away in the rain, her heals making little water splashes on the quickly darkening ground. 

Carlos lay there for a few seconds, his heart still thumping. He didn’t have the energy to speculate on what she was talking about, though he thought about how he dragged a dead, limp deer off the side of the road in Old Town barely an hour ago and the strange grief that had descended upon him. All he knew was that he had been given a second chance. He anxiously checked the flower. Whatever had transpired after, and indeed before, he lost consciousness didn’t seem to have affected it in the slightest. It was strangely unharmed. He wondered briefly at its power. When he finally rose, it brought on a new round of coughing and gasping. He felt like he would be hacking and up water forever, or for however long he had left this time. On his feet, he wheeled around trying to figure out which direction to go in, willing his numb limbs to cooperate. A gust of rain hit him hard, pushing him a few steps to his left, soaking him even further. He was shaking from cold and shock, his senses felt scrubbed clean and raw, but he had to keep going. He looked for the radio tower and tried to get himself reoriented. Night Vale looked just a bit more in focus, just a bit more stable as he scanned the skyline. When he found it, he made for it in a stumbling, splashing run and beneath him, the void closed over the space between universes. 

He passed Cecil’s car on the way, and it was sitting lopsided, like it was being half dipped into the void, only one head light beamed into the air. He gave the car a wide berth but kept his ears pealed for the radio between the howls of the wind. He couldn’t hear Cecil or Kevin. It was the weather again. He had no way of knowing what was happening. 

Graveyard Club – Diamond City  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y29hdJrVp2M 

He didn’t know what was waiting for him when he got to the radio station, but he had been given another chance. He had been given another chance! He couldn’t help the piece of hope that bloomed out the dread in his stomach. All he wanted now, was for Cecil to be safe and in his arms. 

 

On a hill in Old Town Night Vale Huntokar surveyed the town, it looked very much like a flooded landscape in the depths of the night, a pitch-black expanse of water and surrounded, stranded evidence of life. But there was movement down there, she could see. Small crowds from all directions were converging on the radio shack, all makeshift weapons and determined voices. The aftermath of the pain, her sacrifice, was fading into something like memory now but the world was acting accordingly, the dome of clouds above everything writhed and there was hail buffeting her naked form. Lightening was striking the mountains that the residents so bafflingly ignored. Now all she had to do was wait, she could interfere no more. She hoped that others would steer clear. She took a seat on a rocky slope, silhouetted every now and then from different angles by the cold light of lightening, entirely ignoring the numbing cold. An odd shape descended and landed with very little ceremony and grace to her right, the reputation of their divine namesake never quite proceeding them in this strange town. Erika, an angel, approached Huntokar and sat beside her. 

‘Mind if I take a seat?’ Erika asked, although they already had. 

‘Not at all,’ Huntokar intoned, without taking her eyes off the scene below. 

They sat quietly for some time and watched Carlos’ stumbling progress. 

‘Hey,’ Erika suddenly piped up ‘Do you have a few dollars I could borrow?’ 

‘What do you need it for?’ 

‘Oh,’ Erika said nonchalantly ‘Bus fare. That kind of thing.’

Huntokar paused ‘I don’t have any… I don’t even have pockets... Or any need for money... Sorry.’ 

‘That’s okay.’ 

Huntokar, god-like being as she was, wasn’t quite sure what to do with the proceeding silence.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come. Feedback is welcome, kudos would be lovely :3


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